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Heroines of service 



Mary Lyon 










Author of **Heroes of Today," etc. 



Copyright, 1916, 1917, by 

Published Sept&mb&r, 1911 
Reprinted April, 1918 
Reprinted August, 1918 
Reprinted July, 






From time immemorial women have been con- 
tent to be as those wlio serve. Non ministrari 
sed ministrare not to be ministered unto but 
to minister is not alone the motto of those 
who stand under the "Wellesley banner, but of 
true women everywhere. 

For centuries a woman's own home had not 
only first claim, but full claim, on her foster- 
ing care. Her interests and sympathies her 
mother love belonged only to those of her own 
household. In the days when much of the la- 
bor of providing food and clothing was carried 
on under each roof -tree, her service was neces- 
sarily circumscribed by the home walls. 
Whether she was the lady of a baronial castle, 
or a hardy peasant who looked upon her work 
within doors as a rest from her heavier toil in 
the fields, the mother of the family was not only 

responsible for the care of her children and the 



prudent management of her housekeeping, but 
she had also entire charge of the manufacture of 
clothing, from the spinning of the flax or wool to 
the fashioning of the woven cloth into suitable 

Changed days have come, however? with 
changed ways. The development of science 
and invention, which has led to industrial prog- 
ress and specialization, has radically changed 
the woman's world of the home. The indus- 
tries once carried on there are now more effi- 
ciently handled in large factories and packing- 
houses. The care of the house itself is under- 
taken by specialists in cleaning and repairing, 

Many women, whose energies would have 
been, under former conditions, inevitably mo- 
nopolized by home-keeping duties, are to-day 
giving their strength and special gifts to so- 
cial service. They are the true mothers not 
only of their own little brood but of the com- 
munity and the world. 

The service of the true woman is always 
"womanly." She gives something of the fos- 
tering care of the mother, whether it be as 
nurse, like Clara Barton; as teacher, like Mary 



Lyon and Alice Freeman Palmer; or as social 
helper, like Jane Addamsw' So it is that the 
service of these " heroines n is that which only 
women could have given to the world. 

Many women who have never held children 
of their own in their arms have been mothers 
to many In their work. It was surely the 
mother heart of Frances E. Willard that made 
our "maiden crusader 5? a helper and healer, as 
well as a standard bearer. It was the mother 
heart of Alice C. Fletcher, that made that stu- 
dent of the past a champion of the Indians in 
their present-day problems and a true "camp- 
fire interpreter. ?? It was the woman's tender- 
ness that made Mary Slessor, that torch-bearer 
to Darkest Africa, the "white mother ?? of all 
the black people she taught and served. 

The Bussian peasants have a proverb: "La- 
bor is the house that Love lives In." The 
women, who, as mothers of their own families, 
or of other children whose needs cry out for 
their understanding care, are always home- 
makers. And the work of each of these her 
labor of love is truly "a house that love lives 
















Mary Lyon Frontispiece 

Mary Lyon Chapel and Administration Hall . , 17 

Alice Freeman Palmer 36 

College Hall, Destroyed by Fire in 1914 ... 53 

Tower Court, which Stands on the Site of College 
Hall 53 

Clara Barton 79 

^rancesTr^Willard 94 

The Statue of Miss Willard in the Capitol at 
Washington 103 

Mrs. Julia Ward Howe 133 

Anna Howard Shaw 167 

Mary Antin 201 

Alice C. Fletcher ......... 227 

Mary Slesspr 253 

Marie Sklodowska Curie 280 

Madame and Dr. Curie and Their Little Daugh- 
ter Irene 289 

Jane Addams 299 

Polk Street Facade of Hull-House Buildings . . 309 

A Comer of the Boys' Library at Hull House . 309 


Anything that ought to be done can be done, 




'\ Hk T^-^ * s m y l^tle Mistress Mary trying 
to do? ?? The whir of the spinning- 
wheel was stilled for a moment as Mrs. Lyon 
glanced in surprise at the child who had climbed 
tip on a chair to look more closely at the hour- 
glass on the chimneypiece. 

"I am just trying to see If I can find the 
way to make more time," replied Mary. 

"That ? s not the way, daughter," laughed 
the busy mother^ as she started her wheel 
again. "When you stop to watch time, you 
lose It. Let your work slip from your fingers 
faster than the sand slips that 's the way to 
make time!" 

If busy, hands can indeed make time, we know 
why the days were so full of happy work in 
that little farm-house among the hills of west- 
ern Massachusetts. It takes courage and 



ceaseless toil to run a farm that must provide 
food and clothing for seven growing children, 
but Mrs. Lyon was never too busy or too tired 
to help a neighbor or to speak a word of cheer. 

"How is it that the widow can do more for 
me than any one else? ?? asked a neighbor who 
had found her a friend in need. & 6 She reminds 
me of what the Bible says, 'having nothing yet 
possessing all things.* There she is left with- 
out a husband to fend for her and the chil- 
dren, so that it ? s work, work, work for them 
all from morning till night, and yet they ? re 
always happy. You would think the children 
liked nothing better than doing chores. ?? 

"How is it that the harder a thing is the 
more you seem to like it, Mary? 73 asked her 
seat-mate in the district school, looking won- 
deringly at the girl whose eyes always bright- 
ened and snapped when the arithmetic prob- 
lems were long and hard, 

"Oh, it ? s lots more fun climbing than just 
going along on the level/' replied Mary. 
"You feel so much more alive. 1 11 tell you 
what to do when a thing seems hard, like a 
steep, steep hill, you know. Say to yourself: 



*Some people may call yon Difficulty, old MI; 
but I know that your name is Opportunity. 
You ? re here just to prove that I can do some- 
thing worth while/ Then the climbing is the 
best fun really ! ? ? 

It is a happy thing to be born among the 
hills. Wherever one looks there is something 
to whisper: " There is no joy like climbing. 
Besides, the sun stays longer on the summit, 
and beyond the hill-tops is a larger, brighter 
world. " Perhaps it was the fresh breath of 
the hills that gave Mary Lyon her glowing 
cheeks, as the joy of climbing brought the danc- 
ing lights into her clear blue eyes. 

The changing seasons march over the hills in 
a glorious pageant of color, from the tender 
veiling green of young April to the purple 
mists and red-and-gold splendor of Indian sum- 
mer. Every day had the thrill of new adven- 
ture to Mary Lyon, but perhaps she loved the 
mellow October days best. "They have all the 
glowing memory of the past summer and the 
promise of the spring to come/ 9 she used to 

How could one who had, through the weeks 


of growing things, worked together with rain 
and sunshine and generous earth for the har- 
vest but feel the happy possession of all the 
year at the time when she saw bins overflowing 
with brown potatoes^ yellow corn, and other 
gifts of fields and orchard? She could never 
doubt that, given the waiting earth and faith- 
ful labor, the harvest was sure. Duties and 
difficulties were always opportunities for 
higher endeavor and happier achievement. 

There was no play in Mary Lyon ? s child- 
hood except the play that a healthy, active 
child may find in varied, healthful work done 
with a light heart. There was joy in rising 
before the sun was up ? to pick weeds in the 
dewy garden, to feed the patient creatures in 
the barn ? and to make butter in the cool spring- 
house. Sometimes one could meet the sunrise 
on the Mil-top, when it happened to be one's 
turn to bring wood to the dwindling pile by the 
kitchen door. Then there was the baking 
golden-brown loaves of bread and tempting 
apple pies. When the morning mists had 
quite disappeared from the face of the Mils, 
the blue smoke had ceased to rise from the 



chimney of the little farm-house. Then was 
the time to sit beside Mother and knit or weave, 
sew or mend, the garments that were home- 
made, beginning with the moment when the 
wool^ sheared from their own sheep, was 
carded and spun Into thread. For holidays, 
there were the exciting mornings when they 
made soap and candles, or the afternoons when 
they gathered together in the barn for a husk- 

Beauty walked with Toil, however, about 
that farm in the hills. Mary had time to lift 
up her eyes to the glory of the changing sky 
and to tend the pinks and peonies that throve 
nowhere so happily as in her mother's old- 
fashioned garden. 

"May I plant this bush in the corner with 
your roses?"' asked a neighbor one day. "It 
is a rare plant of rare virtue, and I know that in 
your garden it cannot die. ? ? 

As the labor of her hands prospered, as her 
garden posies blossomed, so the wings of Mary 
Lyou's spirit grew. No matter how shut in the 
present seemed, no hope nor dream for the fu- 
ture died In her heart as the days went by. 



Her plans only took deeper and deeper root 
as she worked and waited patiently for the time 
of flowers and fruit. There were few books to 
be had, but these yielded her of their best, 
There was opportunity for but few scattered 
terms in distant district schools, but she learned 
there more than the teachers taught. 

"Anything is interesting when you realize 
that it is important/ 5 she used to say. And to 
Mary everything was important that was real. 
She learned not only from books, but from 
work, from people,, from Nature, and from 
every bit of stray circumstance that came her 
way. It is said that when the first brick house 
was built in the village she made a point of 
learning how to make bricks, turning them up, 
piling them on the wheelbarrow, and putting 
them in the kiln. She was always hungry to 
know and to do, and the harder a thing was the 
more she seemed to like it. Climbing was ever 
more fun than trudging along on the level 

The years brought changes to the home farm. 
The older sisters married and went to homes of 
their own. When Mary was thirteen her 
mother married again and went away with the 



younger children, leaving her to keep house for 
the only brother,, who had from early childhood 
been her best comrade. The dollar a week 
given her for her work was saved to pay for a 
term In the neighboring academy. She also 
taught in a district school for a while, receiv- 
ing seventy-five cents a week and board. 

The nineteen-year-old girl who appeared one 
day at the Ashfield Academy somehow drew 
all eyes to her. Her blue homespun dress, 
with running-strings at neck and waist, was 
queer and shapeless, even judged by village 
standards in the New England of 1817. Her 
movements were impulsive and ungainly and 
her gait awkward. But It was not the crudity? 
but the power, of the new-comer that impressed 
people. Squire Whitens gentle daughter, the 
slender, graceful Amanda, gave the loyalty of 
her best friendship to this interesting and en- 
thusiastic schoolmate from the hill farm. 

"She is more alive than any one I know, 
Father, ?? said the girl, In explanation of her 
preference. "You never see her odd dress and 
sudden ways when once you have looked into 
her face and talked to her. Her face seems 



lighted from within It isn't just her bright 
color and red-gold curls; it isn't even her 
merry laugh. I can ? t explain what I mean, but 
it seems as if her life touches mine and it ? s 
such a big, warm, beautiful life!" 

The traditions of this New England village 
long kept the memory of her first recitation. 
On Friday she had been given the first lesson 
of Adamses Latin Grammar to commit to 
memory. When she was called up early Mon- 
day afternoon, she began to recite fluently 
declensions and conjugations without pause, 
until, as the daylight waned ? the whole of the 
Latin grammar passed in review before the 
speechless teacher and dazzled, admiring pu- 

"How did you ever do it? How could your 
head hold it all?" demanded Amanda, with a 
gasp, as they walked home together. ' 

"Well, really, I'll have to own up, ?? said 
Mary, with some reluctance, "I studied all day 
Sunday! It wasn't so very hard, though. I 
soon saw where the changes in the conjuga- 
tions came in, and the rules of syntax are very 
much like English grammar. " 



Studying was never hard work to Mary, be- 
cause she could at a moment's notice put all 
her attention on the thing at hand. Her busy 
childhood had taught her to attack a task at 
once, while others were frequently spending 
their time thinking and talking about doing it. 

"No one could study like Mary Lyon, and 
no one could clean the school-room with such 
despatch/ 9 said one of her classmates. 

It seemed as if she never knew what it was 
to be tired. She appeared to have a bound- 
less store of strength and enthusiasm, as if, 
through all her growing years, she had made 
over into the very fiber of her being the energy 
of the life-giving sunshine and the patience of 
the enduring hills. Time must be used wisely 
when all one's little hoard of savings will only 
pay for the tuition of one precious term. Her 
board was paid with two coverlets, spun, dyed, 
and woven by her own hands, 

"They should prove satisfactory covers/' she 
said merrily, "for they have covered all my 
needs. 3 ' 

On the day when she thought she must bid 
farewell to Ashfield Academy the trustees 
' 11 


voted her free tuition, a gift which, as pupil- 
teacher, she did her best to repay. The hos- 
pitable doors of Squire White's dignified resi- 
dence were thrown open to Ms daughter's 
chosen friend, and in this second home she 
readily absorbed the ways of gracious living 
the niceties and refinements of dress and man- 
ners for which there had been no time in the 
busy farm-house. 

When the course at the academy was com- 
pleted, the power of her eager spirit and evi- 
dent gifts led Squire White to offer her the 
means to go with his daughter to Byfield Semi- 
nary near Boston, the school conducted by Mr. 
Joseph Emerson, who believed that young 
women, no less than their brothers, should have 
an opportunity for higher instruction. In 
those days before colleges for women or nor- 
mal schools, he dreamed of doing something 
towards giving worthy preparation to future 
teachers. It was through the teaching and in- 
spiration of this cultured Harvard scholar and 
large-hearted man that Mary Lyon learned to 
know the meaning of life, and to understand 
aright the longings of her own soul. Years 



Afterward she said : "In my youth I had mncli 
vigor was always aspiring after something. 
I called It longing to study, but had few to di- 
^ect me. One teacher I shall always remember. 
fHe taught me that education was to fit one to 
do good.'* 

On leaving Byfield Seminary, Miss Lyon be- 
gan her life-work of teaching. But with all her 
'preparation for doing and her intense desire 
to do, she did not at first succeed. The matter 
of control was not easy to one who would not 
stoop to rigid mechanical means and who said, 
"One has not governed a child until she makes 
the child smile under her government. ?? Be- 
'sides, her sense of humor later one of her chief 
assets seemed at first to get in the way of her 
gaining a steady hold on the reins. 

When she was tempted to give up in discour- 
agement, she said to herself: "I know that 
good teachers are needed, and that I ought to 
teach. 'All that ought to be done can be 
done. 9 ?? 

To one who worked earnestly In that spirit, 
success was sure. Five years later, two towns 
were vying with each other to secure her as a 



teacher In their academies for young ladies. 
For some time she taught at Derry, New Hamp- 
shire, during the warm months, going to her 
beloved Ashfield for the winter term. Wher- 
ever she was she drew pupils from the sur- 
rounding towns and even from beyond the bor- 
ders of the State. Teachers left their schools 
to gather about her. She had the power to 
communicate something of her own enthusiasm 
and vitality. Bright eyes and alert faces testi- 
fied to her power to quicken thought and to 
create an appetite for knowledge. 

"Her memory has been to me continually 
an inspiration to overcome difficulties/' said 
one of her pupils. 

"You were the first friend who ever pointed 
out to me defects of character with the expecta- 
tion, that they would be removed, ? ? another pu- 
pil wrote In a letter of heartfelt gratitude. 

At this time all the schools for girls, like the 
Ashfield Academy and Mr. Emerson's seminary 
at Byfield, were entirely dependent upon the 
enterprise and ideals of individuals. There 
were no colleges with buildings and equipment, 
such as furnished dormitories, libraries, and 



laboratories? belonging to the work and the fu- 
ture. In the case of the most successful 
schools there was no guarantee that they would 
endure beyond the lifetime of those whose In- 
terest had called them Into being. 

Miss Lyon taught happily for several years? 
often buying books of reference and material 
for practical illustration out of her salary of 
five or six dollars a week. The chance for per- 
sonal influence seemed the one essential. 
" Never mind the brick and mortar !" she cried. 
"Only let us have the living minds to work 
upon ! 9 ? 

As experience came with the years, however, 
as she saw schools where a hundred young 
women were crowded Into one room without 
black-boards, globes, maps, and other neces- 
saries of Instruction she realized that some- 
thing must be done to secure higher schools for 
girls, that would have the requisite material 
equipment for the present and security for the 
future. "We must provide a college for young 
women on the same conditions as those for 
men, with publicly owned buildings and fixed 
standards of work/ 9 she said. 



This Idea could appeal to most people of that 
day only as a strange ? extravagant,, and dan- 
gerous notion. Harvard and Yale existed to 
prepare men to be ministers, doctors, and law- 
yers. Did women expect to thrust them- 
selves Into the professions? Why should they 
want the learning of men? It could do nothing 
but make them unfit for their proper life In 
the home. Who had ever heard of a college 
for girls ! What is unheard of is to most peo- 
ple manifestly absurd. 

To Mary Lyon, however, difficulties were op- 
portunities for truer effort and greater service. 
She had, besides, a faith in a higher power 
in a Divine Builder of "houses not made with 
hands' 9 which, led her to say with unshaken 
confidence, " 'All that ought to be done can be 
done!' " 

It was as if she were able to look into the 
future and see the way time would sift the 
works of the present. Those who looked into 
her earnest blue eyes, bright with courage, 
deep with understanding, could not but feel 
that she had the prophet's vision. It was as 
if she had power to divine the difference be- 


Mary Lyon chapel and administration hall 


tween the difficult and the impossible, and, 
knowing that, her faith in the happy outcome 
of her work was founded on a rock. 

It took this faith and hope, together with an 
unfailing charity for the lack of vision in others 
and an ever-present sense of humor, to carry 
Mary Lyon through the task to which she now 
set herself. She was determined to open peo- 
ple's eyes to the need of giving girls a chance 
for a training that would fit them for more use- 
ful living by making them better teachers, 
wiser home-makers, and, in their own right, 
happier human beings. She must not only 
convince the conservative men and women of 
her day that education could do these things, 
but she must make that conviction so strong 
that they would be willing to give of their hard- 
earned substance to help along the good work. 

Those were not the days of large fortunes. 
Miss Lyon could not depend upon winning the 
interest of a few powerful benefactors. She 
must enlist the support of the many who would 
be willing to share their little. She must per- 
force have the hardihood of the pioneer, no 
less than the vision of the seer, to enable her 



to meet the problems, trials, and rebuffs of the 
next few years. 

"I learned twenty years ago not to get out 
of patience/ 9 she once said to some one who 
marveled at the unwearied good-humor with 
which she met the most exasperating circum- 

First enlisting the assistance of a few ear- 
nest men to serve as trustees and promoters 
of the cause, she, herself, traveled from town 
to town, from village to village, and from house 
to house, telling over and over again the story 
of the Mount Holyoke to be, and what it was to 
mean to the daughters of New England. For 
the site in South Hadley, Massachusetts, had 
been early selected, and the name of the neigh- 
boring height, overlooking the Connecticut 
Eiver, chosen by the girl who was born in the 
hills and who believed that it was good to 

U I wander about without a home/ 5 she wrote 
to her mother, "and scarcely know one week 
where I shall be the next. J? 

All of her journeying was by stage, for at 
that time the only railroad in New England was 



the one ? not yet completed, connecting Boston 
with Worcester and Lowell. To those who 
feared that even her robust health and radiant 
spirit could not long endure the strain of such 
a life, she said: u QuT personal comforts are 
delightful, but not essential Mount Holyoke 
means more than meat and sleep. Had I a 
thousand lives, I would sacrifice them all in 
suffering and hardship for its sake. 59 

During these years Miss Lyon abundantly 
proved that the pioneer does not live by bread 
alone. Only by the vision of what Ms strug- 
gles will mean to those who come after to profit 
by his labors is his zeal fed. It seemed at 
the time when Mount Holyoke was only a 
dream of what might be, and in the anxious 
days of breaking ground which followed, that 
Miss Lyon's faith that difficulties are only op- 
portunities in disguise was tried to the utmost. 
Just when her enthusiasm was arousing in the 
frugal, thrifty New Englanders a desire to 
give, out of their slender savings, a great finan- 
cial panic swept over the country. 

Miss Lyon ? s friends shook their heads. 
"Ton will have to wait for better times/' they 



said. "It is impossible to go on with the un- 
dertaking now." 

"When a thing ought to be done ? it cannot 
be impossible/ 9 replied Miss Lyon. 4 Now is 
the only word that belongs to us ; with the after- 
while we have nothing to do." 

In that spirit she went on, and in that spirit 
girls who had been her pupils gave of their 
little stipends earned by teaching, and the 
mothers of girls gave of the money earned by 
selling eggs and braiding palm-leaf hats. 

* Don ? t think any gift too small," said Miss 
Lyon. "I want the twenties and the fifties, 
but the dollars and the half-dollars, with 
prayer ? go a long way." 

So Mount Holyoke was built on faith and 
prayer and the gifts of the many who believed 
that the time cried out for a means of educat- 
ing girls who longed for a better training. 
One hard-working farmer with five sons to edu- 
cate gave a hundred dollars. "I have no 
daughters of my own," he said, "but I want to 
help give the daughters of America the chance 
they should have along with the boys." Two 
delicate gentlewomen who had lost their little 



property In the panic, earned with their own 
hands the money they had pledged to the col- 

Even Miss Lyon ? s splendid optimism had, 
however, some chill encounters with small- 
mindedness in people who were not seldom 
those of large opportunities. Once when she 
had journeyed a considerable distance to lay 
her plans before a family of wealth and in- 
fluence in the community,, she returned to her 
friends with a shade of thought on her cheer- 
ful brow. "Yes, it Is all true, just as I was 
told/ ? she said as if to herself. * ( They live in a 
costly house, it is full of costly things, they 
wear costly clothes but oh, they ? re little bits 
of folks!" 

Miss Lyon, herself, gave to the work not only 
her entire capital of physical strength and her 
gifts of heart and mind, but also her small sav- 
ings, which had been somewhat increased by 
Mr. White's prudent investments. And for 
the future she offered her services on the same 
conditions as those of the missionary the 
means of simple livelihood and the joy of the 



" Mount Holyoke Is designed to cultivate the 
missionary spirit among its pupils, 9? declared 
an early circular, "that they may live for God 
and do something." 

Always Miss Lyoii emphasized the Ideal of 
an education that should ' be a training for 
service. To this end she decided upon the ex- 
pedient of cooperative housework to reduce 
running expenses, to develop responsibility, 
and to provide healthful physical exercise. 
Long before the day of gymnasiums and active 
sports, this educator recognized the need of 
balanced development of physical as well as 
mental habits. 

"We need to introduce wise and healthy 
ideals not only into our minds, but into our 
muscles," she said. "Besides, there is no dis- 
cipline so valuable as that which comes from 
fitting our labors into the work of others for 
a common good. ?? 

One difficulty after another was met and van- 
quished. When the digging for the foundation 
of the first building was actually under way, 
quicksand was discovered and another location 
had to be chosen. Then, it aDpeared that the 



bricks were faulty, which led to another de- 
lay. After the work was resumed and all was 
apparently going well, the walls suddenly col- 
lapsed. "Then," said the man in charge, "I 
did dread to see Miss Lyon. Now, thought I, 
she will be discouraged." 

As he hurried towards the ruins, however, 
whom should he meet but Miss Lyon herself, 
smiling radiantly! "How fortunate it is that 
it happened while the men were at breakfast !" 
she exclaimed. "I understand that no one 
has been injured ! ? y 

The corner-stone was laid on a bright 
October day that seemed to have turned all 
the gray chill of the dying year into a golden 
promise of budding life after the time of frost. 

"The stones and brick and mortar speak a 
language which vibrates through my soul," said 
Miss Lyon. "I have indeed lived to see the 
time when a body of gentlemen have ventured 
to lay the corner-stone of an edifice which will 
cost about fifteen thousand dollars and for 
an institution for women! Surely the Lord 
hath remembered our low estate. The work 
will not stop with this foundation. Our enter- 



prise may have to struggle through embarrass- 
ments for years? but its influence will be felt." 

How lovingly she watched the work go on! 
When the interior was under way, how care- 
fully she considered each detail of closets, 
shelves, and general arrangements for comfort 
and convenience! When the question of 
equipment became urgent ? how she worked to 
create an interest that should express itself 
in gifts of bedroom furnishings, curtains, 
crockery, and kitchen-ware, as well as books, 
desks, chairs, and laboratory material! All 
sorts and conditions of contributions and dona- 
tions were welcomed. One was reminded of 
the way pioneer Harvard was at first sup- 
ported by gifts of "a cow or a sheep, corn or 
salt, a piece of cloth or of silver plate. ?? Four 
months before the day set for the opening, not 
a third of the necessary furnishing had come 

" Everything that is done for us now, ?? cried 
Miss Lyon, " seems like giving bread to the 
hungry and cold water to the thirsty ! ?? 

On the eighth of November, 1837, the day 
that Mount Holyoke opened its door, all was 



excitement In South Hadley. Stages and pri- 
vate carriages had for two days been arriving 
with road-weary, but eager, young women. 
The sound of hammers greeted their ears. It 
appeared that all the men, young and old, of 
the countryside had been pressed into service. 
Some were tacking down carpet or matting, 
others were carrying trunks, unloading furni- 
ture, and putting up beds. Miss Lyon seemed 
to be everywhere, greeting each new-comer 
with a word that showed that she already knew 
her as an individual, putting the shy and home- 
sick girls to work, taking a cup of tea to one 
who was overtired from her journey, and di- 
recting the placing of furniture and the un- 
packing of supplies. 

It might well have seemed to those first ar- 
rivals that they must live through a period of 
preparation' before a reluctant beginning of 
regular work could be achieved, but in the midst 
of all the noise of house-settling and the fever 
of uncompleted entrance examinations the open- 
ing bell sounded on schedule time and classes 
began at once. What seemed, at first glance, 
hopeless confusion became ordered and stimu- 



lating activity through the generalship and in- 
spiration of one woman whose watchword was : 
"Do the "best you can now. Do not lose one 
golden opportunity for doing by merely getting 
ready to do something. Always remember 
that what ought to be done can be done. 95 

This spirit of assured power the will to 
do became the spirit of those who worked 
with her ? and was in time recognized as "the 
Mount Holyoke spirit." 

"I can see Miss Lyon now as vividly as if 
it were only yesterday that I arrived, tired, 
hungry, and fearful, into the strange new world 
of the seminary," said a white-haired grand- 
mother, her spectacles growing misty as she 
looked back across the sixty-odd years that 
separated her from the experiences that she 
was recalling. 

"Tell me what you remember most about 
her," urged her vivacious granddaughter, a 
Mount Holyoke freshman, home for her Christ- 
mas vacation. "Was she really such a wonder 
as they all say?" 

"Many pictures coine to me of Miss Lyon 
that are much more vivid than those of people 



I saw yesterday/ 9 pondered the grandmother. 
u But It was, I think. In morning exercises in 
seminary hall that she impressed us most. 
Those who listened to her earnest words and 
looked into her face alight with feeling could 
not but remember. Her large blue eyes looked 
down upon us as if she held us all in her heart. 
What was the secret of her power? My dear, 
she was power. All that she taught, she was, 
And so while her words awakened, her example 
the life-giving touch of her life gave power 
to do and to endure. ?? 

The young girPs bright face was turned 
thoughtfully towards the fire, but the light that 
shone in her eyes was more than the reflected 
glow from the cheerful logs. "It is good to 
think that a woman can live like that in her 
work, ?? she ventured softly. 

The grandmother's face showed an answer- 
Ing glow. ' c There are some things that cannot 
grow old and die, 9? she said. "One of them is 
a spirit like Mary Lyon's. When they told us 
that she had died, we knew that only her bodily 
presence had been removed. She still lived in 
our midst we heard the ring of her voice in 



the words we read, in the words our hearts told 
us she would say ; we even heard the ring of her 
laugh! And to-day you may be sure that the 
woman-pioneer who had the faith to plant the 
first college for women in America,, lives by 
that faith, not only in her own Mount Holyoke ? 
but in the larger lives of all the women who 
have profited by her labors, ?? 



Our echoes roll from soul to soul ? 
And grow forever and forever. 



THIS Is the story of a princess of our own 
time and our own America a princess 
who, while little more than a girl herself, was 
chosen to rule a kingdom of girls. It is a little 
like the story of Tennyson ? s "Princess," with 
her woman's kingdom,, and very much like the 
happy, old-fashioned fairy-tale. 

We have come to think it is only in fairy- 
tales that a golden destiny finds out the true, 
golden heart, and, even though she masquer- 
ades as a goose-girl, discovers the "kingly 
child ?? and brings her to a waiting throne. 
We are tempted to believe that the chance of 
birth and the gifts of wealth are the things 
that spell opportunity and success. But this 
princess was born in a little farm-house, to a 
daily round of hard work and plain living. 
That it was also a life of high thinking and 
rich enjoyment of what each day brought, 
proved her indeed a "kingly child/ 9 



"Give me health and a day, and I will make 
the pomp of emperors ridiculous ! ? ? said the 
sage of Concord. So it was with little Alice 
Freeman. As she picked wild strawberries on 
the hills, and climbed the apple-tree to lie for 
a blissful minute in a nest of swaying blossoms 
under the blue sky, she was, as she said ? "happy 
all over.'* The trappings of royalty can add 
nothing to one who knows how to be royally 
happy in gingham. . 

But Alice was not always following the pas- 
ture path to her friendly brook, or running 
across the fields with the calling wind, or danc- 
ing with her shadow in the barn-yard, where 
even the prosy hens stopped pecking corn for a 
minute to watch. She had work to do for 
Mother. When she was only four ? she could 
dry the dishes without dropping one ; and when 
she was six, she could be trusted to keep the 
three toddlers younger than herself out of mis- 

"My little daughter is learning to be a real 
little mother/ 9 said Mrs. Freeman, as she went 
about her work of churning and baking without 
an anxious thought, 


Alice Freeman Palmer 


It was Sister Aliee who pointed out the 
robin's nest, and found funny turtles and baby 
toads to play with. She took the little brood 
with her to hunt eggs in the barn and to see 
the ducks sail around like a fleet of boats on 
the pond. When Ella and Fred were wakened 
by a fearsome noise at night, they crept up 
close to their little mother, who told them a 
story about the funny screech-owl In its hollow- 
tree home. 

"It is the ogre of mice and bats, but not of 
little boys and girls/' she said. 

"It sounds funny now, Alice, " they whis- 
pered. "It ? s all right when we can touch 
you. ?? 

When Alice was seven a change came in the 
home. The father and mother had some seri- 
ous talks, and then it was decided that Father 
should go away for a time, for two years, to 
study to be a doctor. 

"It is hard to be chained to one kind of life 
when all the time you are sure that you have 
powers and possibilities that have never had 
a chance to come out in the open," she heard 
her father say one evening. "I have always 



wanted to be a doctor; I can never be more 
than a half-hearted fanner." 

"Ton must go to Albany now ? James/ J said 
the dauntless wife* "I can manage the farm 
until you get through your course at the medi- 
cal college ; and then, when you are doing work 
into which you can put your whole heart ? a bet- 
ter time must come for all of us. ? J 

"How can you possibly get along? 9? lie asked 
in amazement. "How can I leave you for two 
years to be a farmer,, and father and mother, 
too? 59 

"There is a little bank here," she said ? taking 
down a jar from a high shelf in the cupboard 
and jingling its contents merrily. "I have been 
saving bit by bit for just this sort of tiling. 
And Alice will help me," she added ? smiling at 
the child who had been standing near looking 
from father to mother in wide-eyed wonder. 
"Ton will be the little mother while I take 
father ? s place for a time, won't you, Alice? 59 

"It will be cruelly hard on you all/ 9 said the 
father, soberly. * I cannot make it seem right. ? ? 

"Think how much good you can do after- 
ward, ? 9 urged his wife. ' * The time will go very 



quickly when we are all thinking of that. It is 
not hard to endure for a little for the sake of *a 
gude time coming 9 a better time not only for 
us ? but for many besides. For I know you will 
be the true sort of doctor^ James." 

Alice never quite knew how they did manage 
during those two years, *but she was quite sure 
that work done for the sake of a good to come 
is all joy. 

"I owe much of what I am to my milkmaid 
days/ 7 she said. 

She was always sorry for children who do not 
grow up with the sights and sounds of the coun- 
try. "One is very near to all the simple, real 
things of life on a farm/ 5 she used to say. 
"There is a dewy freshness about the early 
out-of-door experiences, and a warm wholesome- 
ness about tasks that are a part of the common 
lot. A country child develops, too, a responsi- 
bility a power to do and to contrive that the 
city child, who sees everything come ready to 
hand from a near-by store, cannot possibly gain. 
However much some of my friends may deplore 
my own early struggle with poverty and hard 
work, I can heartily echo George Eliot's boast: 



"But were another childhood-world my share, 
I would be born a little sister there." 

"When Alice was ten years old, the family 
moved from the farm to the village of Windsor, 
where Dr. Freeman entered upon, his life as a 
doctor, and where Alice ? s real education began. 
From the time she was four she had, for vary- 
ing periods, sat on a bench in the district school, 
but for the most part she had taught herself. 
At "Windsor Academy she had the advantage of 
a school of more than average efficiency. 

"Words do not tell what this old school and 
place meant to me as a giri, ?? she said years 
afterward. "Here we gathered abundant 
Greek, Latin, French, and mathematics; here 
we were taught truthfulness, to be upright and 
honorable ; here we had our first loves, our first 
ambitions, our first dreams, and some of our 
first disappointments. We owe a large debt to 
Windsor Academy for the solid groundwork of 
education that it laid." 

More important than the excellent curriculum 
and wholesome associations, however, was the 
influence of a friendship with one of the teach- 
ers, a young Harvard graduate who was sup- 



porting himself while preparing for the min- 
istry. He recognized the rare nature and latent 
powers of the girl of fourteen, and taught her 
the delights of friendship with Nature and with 
books, and the joy of a mind trained to see and 
appreciate. He gave her an understanding of 
herself, and aroused the ambition, which grew 
into a fixed resolve, to go to college. But more 
than all, he taught her the value of personal in- 

"It is people that count,'* she used to say. 
"The truth and beauty that are locked up in 
books and in nature, to which only a few have 
the key, begin really to live when they are made 
over into human character. Disembodied ideas 
may mean little or nothing; it is when they are 
'made flesh' that they can speak to our hearts 
and minds. ? ? 

As Alice drove about with her father when he 
went to see Ms patients and saw how this true 
"doctor of the old school' ? was a physician to 
the mind as well as the body of those who 
turned to him for help ? she came to a further 
realization of the truth : It is people that count. 

"It must be very depressing to have to asso- 


elate with bodies and their ills all the time/* 
she ventured one day when her father seemed 
more than usually preoccupied. She never for- 
got the light that shone in his eyes as he turned 
and looked at her. 

""We can ? t begin to minister to the body until 
we understand that spirit is all," he said. 
"What we are pleased to call body Is but one 
expression and a most marvelous expression 
of the hidden life 

"that impels 

All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
And rolls tlirough all things." 

It seemed to Alice that this might be a favora- 
ble time to broach the subject of college. He 
looked at her in utter amazement; few girls 
thought of wanting more than a secondary edu- 
cation In those days, and there were still fewer 
opportunities for them. 

"Why, daughter/ 9 he exclaimed, "a little 
more Latin and mathematics won't make you a 
better home-maker ! Why should you set your 
heart on this thing! 95 

"I must go, Father/ 9 she answered steadily. 
"It Is not a sudden notion; I have realized for 



a long time that I cannot live my life the life 
that I feel I have it within me to live without 
this training. I want to be a teacher the best 
kind of a teacher just as yon wanted to be a 
doctor. ? ? 

"But, my dear child," lie protested, much 
troubled, "it will be as much as we can manage 
to see one of you through college, and that one 
should be Fred, who will have a family to look 
out for one of these days." 

* ' If you let me have this chance, Father, ? * said 
Alice, earnestly, "I '11 promise that you will 
never regret it. 1 11 help to give Fred his 
chance, and see that the girls have the thing 
they want as well." 

In the end Alice had her way. It seemed as 
if the strength of her single-hearted longing had 
power to compel a reluctant fate. In June, 
1872, when but a little over seventeen, she went 
to Ann Arbor to take the entrance examinations 
for the University of Michigan, a careful study 
of catalogues having convinced her that the 
standard of work was higher there than in any 
college then open to women. 

A disappointment met her at the outset. Her 


training at "Windsor, good as it was, did not 
prepare her for the university requirements. 
" Conditions 59 loomed mountain high, and the 
examiners recommended that she spend another 
year in preparation. Her intelligence and char- 
acter had won the interest of President Angell, 
however, and he asked that she be granted a 
six- weeks' trial His confidence in her was jus- 
tified; for she not only proved her ability to 
keep up with her class, but steadily persevered 
in her double task until all conditions were re- 

The college years were "a glory instead of a 
grind," in spite of the ever-pressing necessity 
for strict economy in the use of time and money. 
Her sense of values "the ability to see large 
things large and small things small, ' ? which has 
been called the best measure of education, 
showed a wonderful harmony of powers. 
While the mind was being stored with knowl- 
edge and the intellect trained to clear, orderly 
thinking, there was never a "too-muchness' ? in 
this direction that meant a "not-enoughness ?? 
in the realm of human relationships. Always 
she realized that it is people that count, and her 



supreme test of education as of life was 
Its " consecrated serviceableness. 5 ' President 
Angell in writing of her said: 

One of tier most striking characteristics in college was 
her warm and demonstrative sympathy with her circle of 
friends. Her soul seemed bubbling over with joy, which 
she wished to share with the other girls. While she was 
therefore in the most friendly relations with all those girls 
then in college, she was the radiant center of a consider- 
able group whose tastes were congenial with her own. 
Without assuming or striving for leadership, she could not 
but be to a certain degree a leader among these, some of 
whom have attained positions only less conspicuous for 
usefulness than her own. Wherever she went, her genial, 
outgoing spirit seemed to carry with her an atmosphere 
of cheerfulness and joy. 

In the middle of her junior year, news came 
from her father of a more than usual financial 
stress, owing to a flood along the Susquehanna, 
which had swept away his hope of present gain 
from a promising stretch of woodland. It 
seemed clear to Alice that the time had come 
when she must make her way alone. Through 
the recommendation of President Angell she 
secured a position as teacher of Latin and Greek 
in the High School at Ottawa, Illinois, where 
she taught for five months, receiving enough 



money to carry her through the remainder of 
her college course. The omitted junior work 
was made up partly during the summer vaca- 
tion and partly In connection with the studies 
of the senior year. An extract from a letter 
home will tell how the busy days went : 

This is the first day of vacation. I have been so busy 
this year that it seems good to get a change, even though 
I do keep right on here at work. For some time I have 
been giving a young man lessons in Greek every Saturday. 
I have had two junior speeches already, and there are 
still more. Several girls from Flint tried to have me go 
home with them for the vacation,, but I made up my mind 
to stay and do what I could for myself and the other peo- 
ple here. A young Mr. M. is going to recite to me every- 
day in Virgil; so with teaching and all the rest I shaVt 
have time to be homesick, though it will seem rather lonely 
when the other girls are gone and 1 don't hear the college 
bell for two weeks. 

Miss Freeman ? s early teaching showed the 
vitalizing spirit that marked all of her relations 
with people. 

"She had a way of making yon feel 'all 
dipped in sunshine/ ?? one of her girls said. 

"Everything she taught seemed a part of 
herself/ 9 another explained. "It wasn't just 
something In a book that she had to teach and 
yon had to learn. She made every page of our 



history seem a part of present life and interests. 
"We saw and felt the things we talked about " 

The fame of this young teacher's influence 
traveled all the way from Michigan, where she 
was principal of the Saginaw High School, to 
Massachusetts. Mr. Henry Durant, the foun- 
der of Wellesley, asked her to come to the new 
college as teacher of mathematics. She de- 
elined the call, however, and, a year later, a 
second and more urgent invitation. Her fam- 
ily had removed to Saginaw, where Dr. Freeman 
was slowly building up a practice, and it would 
mean leaving a home that needed her. The one 
brother was now in the university; Ella was 
soon to be married; and Stella, the youngest, 
who was most like Alice in temperament and 
tastes^ was looking forward hopefully to col- 

But at the time when Dr. Freeman was be- 
coming established and the financial outlook be- 
gan to brighten, the darkest days that the family 
had ever known were upon them. Stella, the 
chief joy and hope of them all, fell seriously ill. 
The "little mother" loved this "starlike girl" 
as her own child, and looked up to her as one 



who would reach heights her feet could never 
climb. When she died it seemed to Alice that 
she had lost the one chance for a perfectly un- 
derstanding and inspiring comradeship that life 
offered. At this time a third call came to 
Weliesleyy as head of the department of his- 
tory, and hoping that a new place with new 
problems would give her a fresh hold on joy ? 
she accepted. 

Into her college work the young woman of 
twenty-four put all the power and richness of 
her radiant personality. She found peace and 
happiness in untiring effort, and her girls 
found in her the most inspiring teacher they 
had ever known. She went to the heart of the 
history she taught, and she went to the hearts 
of her pupils. 

"She seemed to care for each of us to find 
each as interesting and worth while as if there 
were no other person in the world/' one of her 
students said. 

Mr, Durant had longed to find just such a 
person to build on the foundation he had laid. 
It was in her first year that he pointed her out 
to one of the trustees, 



"Do you see that little dark-eyed girl? She 
will be the nest president of "Wellesiey," he 

" Surely she is much too young and inexperi- 
enced for such a responsibility," protested the 
other, looking at Mm in amazement. 

"As for the first, it is a fault we easily out- 
grow," said Mr. Durant, dryly, "and as for her 
inexperience well, I invite you to visit one of 
her classes." 

The next year, on the death of Mr. Durant, 
she was made acting president of the college, 
and the year following she inherited the title 
and honors, as well as the responsibilities and 
opportunities, of the office. The Princess had 
come into her kingdom. 

The election caused a great stir among the 
students, particularly the irrepressible seniors. 
It was wonderful and most inspiring that their 
splendid Miss Freeman, who was the youngest 
member of the faculty, should have won this 
honor. "Why, she was only a girl like them- 
selves ! The time of strict observances and tire- 
some regulations of every sort was at an end. 
Miss Freeman seemed to sense the prevailing 



mood ? and, without waiting for a formal assem- 
bly, asked the seniors to meet her In her rooms. 
In they poured, overflowing chairs^ tables^ and 
ranging themselves about on the floor in ani- 
mated, expectant groups. The new head of the 
college looked at them quietly for a minute be- 
fore she began to speak, 

"I have sent for you seniors/ 9 she said at last 
seriously, a to ask your advice. You may have 
heard that I have been called to the position of 
acting president of your college. I am ? of 
course, too young; and the duties are ? as you 
know, too heavy for the strongest to carry alone. 
If I must manage alone ? there is only one course 
to decline. It has ? however, occurred to me 
that my seniors might be willing to help by 
looking after the order of the college and leav- 
ing me free for administration. Shall I accept ? 
Shall we work things out together? 95 

The hearty response made It clear that the 
princess was to rule not only by "divine right/' 
but also by the glad "consent of the governed." 
Perhaps it was her youth and charm and the 
romance of her brilliant success that won for 
her the affectionate title of "The Princess"; 



perhaps It was her undisputed sway in her king- 
dom of girls. It was said that her radiant, 
"outgoing spirit " was felt in the atmosphere 
of the plaee and in all the graduates. Her spirit 
became the Wellesley spirit. 

"What did she do besides turning all of you 
into an adoring band of Freeman-followers ? ?? a 
Welle sley woman was asked. 

The reply came without a moment ? s hesita- 
tion : ' ' She had the life-giving power of a true 
creator, one who can entertain a vision of the 
ideal, and then work patiently bit by bit to 
6 carve it in the marble real. 5 She built the 
Wellesley we all know and love, making it prac- 
tical., constructive, fine, generous, human, spir- 

For six years the Princess of Wellesley ruled 
her kingdom wisely. She raised the standard 
of work, enlisted the interest and support 
of those in a position to help, added to the build- 
ings and equipment, and won the enthusiastic 
cooperation of students, faculty, and public. 
Then, one day, she voluntarily stepped down 
from her throne, leaving others to go on with 
the work she had begun. She married Profes- 



sor George Herbert Palmer of Harvard, and 
(quite in the manner of the fairy-tale) "lived 
happily ever after. ?? 

"What a disappointment ! J? some of her 
friends said. "That a ;woman of such unusual 
powers and gifts should deliberately leave a 
place of large usefulness and influence to shut 
herself up in the concerns of a single home ! ?? 

"There is nothing better than the making of 
a true home/ 7 said Alice Freeman Palmer. "I 
shall not be shut away from the concerns of 
others, but more truly a part of them. 'For 
love is fellow-service/ I believe. ?? 

The home near Harvard Tard was soon felt 
to be the most free and perfect expression of 
her generous nature. Its happiness made all 
life seem happier. Shy undergraduates and 
absorbed students who had withdrawn over- 
much within themselves and their pet problems 
found there a thaw after their "winter of dis- 
content.' 9 Wellesley girls even in those days 
before automobiles did not feel fifteen miles 
too great a distance to go for a cup of tea and 
a half -hour by the fire. 

Many were surprised that Mrs. Palmer never 

College Hall, destroyed by fire in 1914 

Tower Court, which stands on the site of 
College Hall 


seemed worn by the unstinted giving of herself 
to the demands of others on her time and sym- 
pathy. The reason was that their interests 
were her interests. Her spirit was indeed 
"outgoing"; there was no wall hedging in a 
certain number of things and people as hers, 
with the rest of the world outside. As we have 
seen, people counted with her supremely; and 
the ideas which moved her were those which she 
found embodied in the joys and sorrows of hu- 
man hearts. 
Mrs. Palmer wrote of her days at this time : 

I don't know what will happen if life keeps on growing 
so much better and brighter each year. How does your 
cup manage to hold so much? Mine is running over, and 
I keep getting larger cups; but I can't contain all my 
blessings and gladness. We -are both so well and busy 
that the days are never half long enough. 

Life held, Indeed, a full measure of oppor- 
tunities for service. Wellesley claimed her as 
a member of its executive committee, and other 
colleges sought her counsel. When Chicago 

University was founded, she was induced to 
serve as its Dean of Women until the oppor- 
tunities for girls there were wisely established. 



Site worked energetically raising funds for Kad- 
cliffe and her own Wellesley. Throughout the 
country her wisdom as an educational expert 
was recognized, and her advice sought in mat- 
ters of organization and administration. For 
several years, as a member of the Massachu- 
setts State Board of Education^ she worked 
early and late to improve the efficiency and in- 
fluence of the normal schools. She was a public 
servant who brought into all her contact with. 
groups and masses of people the simple direct- 
ness and intimate charm that marked her touch 
with individuals. 

"How is it that yon are able to do so much 
more than other people ? 5 ? asked a tired ? nervous 
woman, who stopped Mrs. Palmer for a word 
at the close of one of her lectures. 

" Because/' she answered, with the sudden 
gleam of a smile, "I haven ? t any nerves nor 
any conscience, and my husband says I have n ? t 
any backbone, 35 

It was true that she never worried. She had 
early learned to live one day at a time, without 
* * looking before and after. ? 7 And nobody knew 
better than Mrs. Palmer the renewing power of 



joy. She could romp with some of her very 
small friends in the half -hour before an impor- 
tant meeting; go for a long walk or ride along 
country lanes when a vexing problem confronted 
her ; or spend a quiet evening by the fire read- 
ing aloud from one of her favorite poets at the 
end of a busy day. 

For fifteen years Mrs. Palmer lived this life 
of joyful, untiring service. Then, at the time 
of her greatest power and usefulness, she died. 
The news came as a personal loss to thousands. 
Just as Wellesley had mourned her removal to 
Cambridge, so a larger world mourned her 
earthly passing. But her friends soon found 
that it was impossible to grieve or to feel for 
a moment that she was dead. The echoes of 
her life were living echoes in the world of those 
who knew her. 

There are many memorials speaking in dif- 
ferent places of her work. In the chapel at 
Wellesley, where it seems to gather at every 
hour a golden glory of light, is the lovely trans- 
parent marble by Daniel Chester French, eter- 
nally bearing witness to the meaning of her in- 
fluence with her girls. In the tower at Chicago 



the chimes "make music, joyfully to recall" 
her labors there. But more lasting than marble 
or bronze is the living memorial in the hearts 
and minds "made better by her presence." 
For it is, indeed, people that count ? and in the 
richer lives of many the enkindling spirit of 
Alice Freeman Palmer still lives. 



Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, 
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me. 

"The Vision of Sir Launfal." LOWELL. 


" A baby! Now isn't that the 

best kind of a Christmas gift for us all? 9? 
cried Captain Stephen Barton, who took the 
interesting flannel bundle from the nurse's arms 
and held it out proudly to the assembled fam- 

'No longed-for heir to a waiting kingdom could 
have received a more royal welcome than did 
that little girl who appeared at the Barton home 
in Oxford, Massachusetts, on Christmas Day, 
1821. Ten years had passed since a child had 
come to the comfortable farm-house, and the 
four big brothers and sisters were very sure that 
they could not have had a more precious gift 
than this Christmas baby. No one doubted that 
she deserved a distinguished name, but it was 
due to Sister Dorothy, who was a young lady of 
romantic seventeen and something of a reader, 
that she was called Clarissa Harlowe, after a 
well-known heroine of fiction. The name which 



this heroine of real life actually bore and made 
famous, however, was Clara Barton; for the 
Christmas baby proved to be a gift not only to 
a little group of loving friends, but also to a 
great nation and to humanity. 

The sisters and brothers were teachers rather 
than playmates for Clara, and her education be- 
gan so early that she had no recollection of the 
way they led her toddling steps through the be- 
ginnings of book-learning. On her first day at 
school she announced to the amazed teacher 
who tried to put a primer Into her hands that 
she could spell the "artichoke words." The 
teacher had other surprises besides the discov- 
ery that this mite of three was acquainted with 
three-syllabled lore. 

Brother Stephen, who was a wizard with fig- 
ures, had made the sums with which he covered 
her slate seem a fascinating sort of play at a 
period when most infants are content with 
counting the fingers of one hand. All other in- 
terests, however, paled before the stories that 
her father told her of great men and their splen- 
did deeds. 

Captain Barton was amused one day at the 


discovery that Ms precocious daughter, who al- 
ways eagerly encored Ms tales of conquerors 
and leaders, thought of their greatness in im- 
ages of quite literal and realistic bigness. A 
president must, for instance, be as large as a 
house, and a vice-president as spacious as a 
barn door at the very least. But these some- 
what crude conceptions did not put a check on 
the epic recitals of the retired officer, who, in 
the intervals of active service in plowed fields 
or in pastures where his thoroughbreds grazed 
with their mettlesome colts, liked to live over 
the days when lie served under "Had Anthony ?? 
"Wayne in the Eevolutionary War, and had a 
share in the thrilling adventures of the Western 

Clara was only five years old when Brother 
David taught her to ride. "Learning to ride 
is just learning a horse, " said this daring youth, 
who was the "Buffalo Bill" of the surrounding 

"How can I learn a horse, David!" quavered 
the child, as the high-spirited animals came 
whinnying to the pasture bars at her brother's 



"Catch hold of Ms mane, Clara, and just feel 
the horse a part of yourself the big half for the 
time being/ 3 said David, as he put her on the 
back of a colt that was broken only to bit and 
halter, and, easily springing on his f avorite, held 
the reins of both in one hand, while he steadied 
the small sister with the other by seizing hold of 
one excited foot. 

They went over the fields at a gallop that first 
day, and soon little Clara and her mount under- 
stood each other so well that her riding feats 
became almost as far-famed as those of her 
brother. The time came when her skill and con- 
fidence on horseback her power to feel the ani- 
mal she rode a part of herself and keep her place 
in any sort of saddle through night-long gallops 
meant the saving of many lives. 

David taught her many other practical things 
that helped to make her steady and self-reliant 
In the face of emergencies. She learned, for in- 
stance, to drive a nail straight, and to tie a knot 
that would hold. Eye and hand were trained to 
work together with quick decision that made for 
readiness and efficiency in dealing with a situa- 
tion, whether it meant the packing of a box, or 



first-aid measures after an accident on the skat- 

She was always an outdoor child, with dogs, 
horses, and ducks for playfellows* The fuzzy 
ducklings were the best sort of dolls. Some- 
times when wild ducks visited the pond and all 
her waddling favorites began to flap their wings 
excitedly, It seemed that her young heart felt, 
too, the call of large ? free spaces. 

"The only real fun Is to do things/ ? she used 
to say. 

She rode after the cows, helped In the milking 
and churning, and followed her father about, 
dropping potatoes in their holes or helping weed 
the garden. Once, when the house was being 
painted, she begged to be allowed to assist In the 
work, even learning to grind the pigments and 
mix the colors. The family was at first amused 
and then amazed at the persistency of her appli- 
cation as day after day she donned her apron 
and fell to work. 

They were not less astonished when she 
wanted to learn the work of the weavers In her 
brothers 9 satinet mills. At first, her mother re- 
fused this extraordinary request; but Stephen, 



who understood the Intensity of her craving to 
do things, took her part ; and at the end of her 
first week at the flying shuttle Clara had the 
satisfaction of finding that her cloth was passed 
as first-quality goods. Her career as a weaver 
was of short duration, however, owing to a fire 
which destroyed the mills. 

The young girl was as enthusiastic In play as 
at work. Whether It was a canter over the 
fields on Billy while her dog, Button, dashed 
along at her side, Ms curly white tall bobbing 
ecstatically, or a coast down the rolling hills in 
winter, she entered into the sport of the moment 
with her whole heart. 

"When there was no outlet for her superabun- 
dant energy, she was genuinely unhappy. Then 
it was that a self-consciousness and morbid sen- 
sitiveness became so evident that it was a source 
of real concern to her friends. 

" People say that I must have been born 
brave, 5? said Clara Barton. "Why, I seem to 
remember nothing but terrors in my early days. 
I was a shrinking little bundle of fears fears 
of thunder, fears of strange faces, fears of my 
strange self." It was only when thought and 



feeling were merged In the zest of some inter- 
esting activity that she lost her painful shyness 
and found herself. 

When she was eleven years old she had her 
first experience as a nurse. "A fall which gave 
David a serious blow on the head ? together with 
the bungling ministrations of doctors, who 5 
when in doubt ? had recourse only to the heroic 
treatment of bleeding and leeches ? brought the 
vigorous young brother to a protracted Invalid- 
Ism. For two years Clara was his constant and 
devoted attendant. She schooled herself to re- 
main calm, cheerful, and resourceful in the pres- 
ence of suffering and exacting demands. When 
others gave way to fatigue or * fi nerves, ?? her 
wonderful Instinct for action kept her, child 
though she was y at her post. Her sympathy ex- 
pressed itself in untiring service. 

In the years that followed her brother's re- 
covery Clara became a real problem to herself 
and her friends. The old blighting sensitive- 
ness made her school-days restless and unhappy 
in spite of her alert mind and many Interests. 

At length her mother, at her wit's end because 
of this baffling, morbid strain in her remarkable 



daughter^ was advised by a man of sane judg- 
ment and considerable understanding of child 
nature, to throw responsibility upon her and 
give her a school to teach. 

It happened, therefore, that when Clara Bar- 
ton was fifteen she "put down her skirts, put 
up her hair," and entered upon her successful 
career as a teacher. She liked the children and 
believed in them, entering enthusiastically into 
their concerns, and opening the way to new in- 
terests. When asked how she managed the dis 
cipline of the troublesome ones, she said, * t The 
children give no trouble; I never have to dis- 
cipline at all," quite unconscious of the fact 
that her vital influence gave her a control that 
made assertion of authority unnecessary. 

"When the boys found that I was as strong 
as they were and could teach them something on 
the playground, they thought that perhaps we 
might discover together a few other worth-while 
things in school hours," she said. 

For eighteen years Clara Barton was a 
teacher. Always learning herself while teach- 
ing others, she decided in 1852 to enter Clinton 
Liberal Institute in New York as a pupil for 



graduation, for there was then no colege whose 
doors were open to women, "When she had all 
that the Institute could give her^ she looked 
about for new fields for effort. 

In Bordentown, New Jersey, she found there 
was a peculiar need for some one who would 
bring to her task pioneer zeal as well as the pas- 
sion for teaching. At that time there were no 
public schools in the town or, indeed, in the 

"The people who pose as respectable are too 
proud and too prejudiced to send their boys and 
girls to a free pauper school, and in the mean- 
time all the children run wild, J ' Miss Barton was 

"We have tried again and again/ 5 said a dis- 
couraged young pedagogue. "It is impossible 
to do anything in this place. ? 9 

"Give me three months, and I will teach 
free," said Clara Barton. 

This was just the sort of challenge she Iove3. 
There was something to be done. She began 
with six unpromising gamins in a dilapidated, 
empty building. In a month her quarters 
proved too narrow. Each youngster became an 



enthusiastic and effectual advertisement. As 
always, her success lay in an understanding of 
her pupils as individuals, and a quickening in- 
terest that brought out the latent possibilities of 
each. The school of six grew in a year to one 
of six hundred, and the thoroughly converted 
citizens built an eight-room school-house where 
Miss Barton remained as principal and teacher 
until a breakdown of her voice made a complete 
rest necessary. 

The weak' throat soon made it evident that 
her teaching days were over; but she found at 
the same time in Washington, where she had 
gone for recuperation, a new work. 

"Living is doing, ?? she said. "Even while 
we say there is nothing we can do, we stumble 
over the opportunities for service that we are 
passing by in our tear-blinded self -pity. ?? 

The over-sensitive girl had learned her lesson 
well Life offered moment by moment too 
many chances for/ action for a single worker to 
turn aside to bemoan Ms own particular condi- 

The retired teacher became a confidential sec- 
retary in the office of the Commissioner of Pat- 



ents. Great confusion existed in the Patent 
Office at that time because some clerks had be- 
trayed the secrets of certain Inventions. Miss 
Barton was the first woman to be employed In a 
Government department ; and while ably hand- 
ling the critical situation that called for all her 
energy and resourcefulness, she had to cope not 
only with the scarcely veiled enmity of those 
fellow-workers who were guilty or jealous, but 
also with the open antagonism of the rank and 
file of the clerks, who were indignant because a 
woman had been placed in a position of respon- 
sibility and Influence. She endured covert 
slander and deliberate disrespect, letting her 
character and the quality of her work speak for 
themselves. They spoke so eloquently that 
when a change in political control caused her 
removal, she was before long recalled to 
straighten out the tangle that had ensued. 

At the outbreak of the Civil War Miss Barton 
was, therefore, at the very storm-center. 

The early days of the conflict found her bind- 
ing up the wounds of the Massachusetts boys 
who had been attacked by a mob while passing 
through Baltimore, and who for a time were 



quartered in the Capitol Some of these re- 
cruits were boys from Miss Barton ? s own town 
who had been her pupils, and all were dear to 
her because they were offering their lives for 
the Union. We find her with other volunteer 
nurses caring for the injured, feeding groups 
who gathered about her In the Senate Chamber, 
and, from the desk of the President of the Sen- 
ate, reading them the home news from the Wor- 
cester papers. 

Meeting the needs as they presented them- 
selves in that time of general panic and distress, 
she sent to the Worcester "Spy ?? appeals for 
money and supplies. Other papers took up the 
work, and soon Miss Barton had to secure space 
in a large warehouse to hold the provisions that 
poured in. 

Not for many days, however, did she remain 
a steward of supplies. When she met the trans- 
ports which brought the wounded into the city, 
her whole nature revolted at the sight of the 
untold suffering and countless deaths which 
were resulting from delay in caring for the in- 
jured. Her flaming ardor, her rare executive 
ability, and her tireless persistency won for her 



the confidence of those In command,, and, though 
it was against all traditions, to say nothing of 
Iron-clad army regulations, she obtained per- 
mission to go with her stores of food, bandages, 
and medicines to the firing-line, where relief 
might be given on the battle-field at the time of 
direst need. The girl who had been a "bundle 
of fears ? ? had grown into the woman who braved 
every danger and any suffering to carry help 
to her f ellow-conntrymen. 

People who spoke of her rare initiative and 
practical judgment had little comprehension of 
tHe absolute simplicity and directness of her 
methods. She managed the sulky, rebellious 
drivers of her army-wagons, who had little re- 
spect for orders that placed a woman in control. 
In the same way that she had managed children 
in school Without relaxing her firmness, she 
spoke to them courteously, and called them to 
share the warm dinner she had prepared and 
spread out In appetizing fashion. When, after 
clearing away the dishes, she was sitting alone 
by the fire, the men returned in an awkward, 
self-conscious group. 

**We didn't come to get warm," said their 


spoke sman, as she kindly moved to make room 
for them at the flames, u we come to tell yon we 
are ashamed. The truth Is we didn't want to 
come. "We know there is fighting ahead, and 
we ? ve seen enough of that for men. who don't 
carry muskets, only whips ; and then we 3 ve 
never seen a train under charge of a woman 
before, and we couldn't understand it. "We ? ve 
been mean and contrary all day, and you Ve 
treated us as if we ? d been the general and his 
staff, and given us the best meal we ? ve had 
in two years. "We want to ask your forgive- 
ness, and we shaVt trouble you again. ?? 

She found that a comfortable bed had been 
arranged for her in her ambulance,, a lantern 
was hanging from the roof, and when next 
morning she emerged from her shelter, a steam- 
ing breakfast awaited her and a devoted corps 
of assistants stood ready for orders. 

"I had cooked my last meal for my drivers/' 9 
said Clara Barton. & ' These men remained with 
me six months through frost and snow and 
march and camp and battle; they nursed the 
sick, dressed the wounded, soothed the dying ? 



and buried the dead; and, if possible, they grew 
kinder and gentler every day." 

An incident that occurred at Antietam is 
typical of her quiet efficiency. According to 
her directions, the wounded were being fed with 
bread and crackers moistened in wine, when one 
of her assistants came to report that the entire 
supply was exhausted,, while many helpless ones' 
lay on the field unfed. Miss Barton ? s quick eye 
had noted that the boxes from which the wine 
was taken had fine Indian meal as packing. Six 
large kettles were at once unearthed from the 
farm-house in which they had taken quarters, 
and Boon her men were carrying buckets of hot 
gruel for miles over the fields where lay hun- 
dreds of wounded and dying. Suddenly, in the 
midst of her labors, Miss Barton came upon the 
surgeon in charge sitting alone, gazing at a 
small piece of tallow candle which flickered un- 
certainly in the middle of the table. 

" Tired, Doctor ?" she asked sympathetically. 

" Tired indeed!" he replied bitterly; "tired 
of such heartless neglect and carelessness. 
What am I to do for my thousand wounded men 



with night here and that Inch of candle all the 
light 1 have or can get? 9f 

Miss Barton took Mm by the arm and led 
Mm to the door ? where he could see near the 
barn scores of lanterns gleaming like stars* 

"What is that?" he asked amazedly, 

6 'Tine barn Is lighted/ 9 she replied, "and the 
house will be directly. ? ? 

"Where did you get them? 99 he gasped. 

"Brought them with me. 59 

"How many have you?' 9 

"All you want four boxes." 

The surgeon looked at her for a moment as if 
he were waking from a dream ; and then ? as if it 
were the only answer he could make, fell to 
work. And so it was Invariably that she won 
her complete command of people as she did of 
situations? by always proving herself equal to 
the emergency of the moment. 

Though, as she said In explaining the tardi- 
ness of a letter, "my hands complain a little 
of unaccustomed hardships/ 9 she never com- 
plained of any ill, nor allowed any danger or 
difficulty to interrupt her work. 

"What are my puny ailments beside the 


agony of our poor shattered boys lying help- 
less on the field!" she said And so, while doc- 
tors and officers wondered at her unlimited ca- 
pacity for prompt and effective action, the men 
who had felt her sympathetic touch and effec- 
tual aid loved and revered her as "The Angel of 
the Battlefield." 

One incident well illustrates the characteris- 
tic confidence with which she moved about amid 
scenes of terror and panic. At Fredericks- 
burg ? when "every street was a firing-line and 
every house a hospital/ 5 she was passing along 
when she had to step aside to allow a regiment 
of infantry to sweep by. At that moment Gen- 
eral Patrick caught sight of her, and, thinking 
she was a bewildered resident of the city who 
had been left behind in the general exodus, 
leaned from his saddle and said reassuringly: 

"You are alone and in great danger, madam. 
Do you want protection!" 

Miss Barton thanked him with a smile, and 
said, looking about at the ranks, "I believe I 
am the best-protected woman in the United 

The soldiers near overheard and cried out, 


"That ? s so! that ? s so! ?? And the cheer that 
they gave was echoed by line after line until a 
mighty shout went up as for a victory. 

The courtly old general looked about coni- 
prehendingly, and, bowing low, said as he 
galloped away, "I believe you are right, 
madam. ? ? 

Clara Barton was present on sixteen battle- 
fields; she was eight months at the siege of 
Charleston, and served for a-considerable period 
in the hospitals of Richmond. 

"When the war was ended and the survivors of 
the great armies were marching homeward, her 
heart was touched by the distress in many 
homes where sons and fathers and brothers 
were among those listed as "missing." In all, 
there were 80,000 men of whom no definite re- 
port could be given to their friends. She was 
assisting President Lincoln in answering the 
hundreds of heartbroken letters, imploring 
news, which poured in from all over the land 
when his tragic death left her alone with the 
task. Then, as no funds were available to 
finance a thorough investigation of every sort 
of record of States, hospitals, prisons, and bat- 


Clara Barton 


tie-fields, she maintained out of her own means 
a bureau to prosecute the search. 

Four years were spent in this great labor, 
during which time Miss Barton made many pub- 
lic addresses, the proceeds of which were de- 
voted to the cause. One evening in the winter 
of 1868, while in the midst of a lecture, her 
voice suddenly left her. This was the begin- 
ning of a complete nervous collapse. The hard- 
ships and prolonged strain had, in spite of her 
robust constitution and iron will, told at last on 
the endurance of that loyal worker. 

When able to travel, she went to Geneva, 
Switzerland, in the hope of winning back her 
health and strength. Soon after her arrival 
she was visited by the president and members 
of the "International Committee for the Belief 
of the Wounded in War," who came to learn 
why the United States had refused to sign the 
Treaty of Geneva, providing for the relief of 
sick and wounded soldiers. Of all the civilized 
nations, our great republic alone most unac- 
countably held aloof. 

Miss Barton at once set herself to learn all 
she could about the ideals and methods of the 



International Bed Cross, and during the Franco- 
Prussian War she had abundant opportunity 
to see and experience its practical working on 
the battle-field. 

At the outbreak of the war in 1870 she was 
urged to go as a leader, taking the same part 
that she had borne in the Civil "War. 

"I had not strength to trust for that/' said 
Clara Barton ? u and declined with thanks, prom- 
ising to follow in my own time and way; and 
I did follow within a week. As I journeyed 
on ? n she continued, "I saw the work of these 
Eed Cross societies in the field accomplishing 
in four months under their systematic organiza- 
tion what we failed to accomplish in four years 
without it no mistakes, no needless suffering, 
no waste, no confusion^ but order, plenty, clean- 
liness, and comfort wherever that little flag 
made its way a whole continent marshaled un- 
der the banner of the Eed Cross. As I saw all 
this and joined and worked in it, you will not 
wonder that I said to myself 'if I live to return 
to my country? I will try to make my people 
understand the Ked Cross and that treaty. 5 ** 

Months of service in caring for the wounded 


and the helpless victims of siege and famine 
were followed by a period of nervous exhaus- 
tion from which she but slowly crept back to 
her former hold on health. At last she was 
able to return to America to devote herself to 
bringing her country into line with the Bed 
Cross movement. She found that traditionary 
prejudice against " entangling alliances with 
other powers, ?? together with a singular failure 
to comprehend the vital importance of the mat- 
ter, militated against the great cause. 

"Why should we make provision for the 
wounded ? ? ? it was said. ' * We shall never have 
another war; we have learned our lesson, n 

It came to Miss Barton then that the work of 
the Bed Cross should be extended to disasters, 
such as fires, floods? earthquakes, and epidemics 
"great public calamities which require, like 
war, prompt and well-organized help. ?? 

Years of devoted missionary work with pre- 
occupied officials and a heedless, short-sighted 
public at length bore fruit. After the Geneva 
Treaty received the signature of President 
Arthur on March 1, 1882, it was promptly rati- 
fied by the Senate, and the American National 



Eed Cross came Into being, with Clara Barton 
as Its first president. Through her influence, 
too ? the International Congress of Berne 
adopted the "American Amendment/' which 
dealt with the extension of the Eed Cross to 
relief measures in great calamities occurring in 
times of peace. 

The story of her life from this time on is one 
with the story of the work of the Eed Cross 
during the stress of such disasters as the Mis- 
sissippi Elver floods, the Texas famine in 1885, 
the Charleston earthquake in 1886, the Johns- 
town flood in 1899, the Eussian famine in 1892, 
and the Spanish- American War. The prompt, 
efficient methods followed in the relief of the 
flood sufferers along the Mississippi in 1884 
may serve to illustrate the sane, constructive 
character of her work. 

Supply centers were established, and a 
steamer chartered to ply back and forth carry- 
ing help and hope to the distracted human crea- 
tures who stood "wringing their hands on a 
frozen, fireless shore with every coal-pit filled 
with water. " For three weeks she patrolled 
the river, distributing food, clothing, and fuel, 



caring for the sick, and* In order to establish 

at once normal conditions of life, providing the 
people with many thousands of dollars' worth 
of building material, seeds, and farm Imple- 
ments, thus making it possible for them to help 
themselves and in work find a cure for their 
benumbing distress. 

"Our Lady of the Eed Cross ?? lived past her 
ninetieth birthday, but her real life Is measured 
by deeds, not days. It was truly a long one, 
rich in the joy of service. She abundantly 
proved the truth of the words: "We gain in 
so far as we give. If we would find our life, 
we must be willing to lose it." 



Instead of peace, I was to participate in war; instead 
of the sweetness of home, I was to become a wanderer on 
the face of the earth; but I have felt that a great promo- 
tion came to me when I was counted worthy to be a worker 
in the organized crusade for "God and Home and Na- 
tive Land," ... If I were 'asked the mission of the ideal 
woman, I would say it is to make the whole world home- 
like, The true woman will make every place she enters 
homelike and she will enter every place in this wide 



THERE is no place like a young college 
town in a young country for untroubled 
optimism. Hope blossoms there as nowhere 
else ; the ideal ever beckons at the next turn in 
the road. 'When Josiah Willard brought Ms 
little family to Oberlin, it seemed to them all 
that a new golden age of opportunity was theirs. 
Even Frances, who was little more than a baby, 
drank in the spirit of the place with the air she 

It was not hard to believe in a golden age 
when one happened to see little Frances, or 
"Frank," Willard dancing like a sunbeam about 
the campus. She liked to play about the big 
buildings, where father went every day with his 
big books, and watch for him to come out. 
Sometimes one of the students would stop to 
speak to her ; sometimes a group would gather 
about while, with fair hair flying and small 



arms waving, In a voice incredibly clear and 
bird-like, she "said a piece 59 that mother had 
taught her. 

"Is that a little professorling?" asked a new- 
comer one day, attracted by the child's cherub 
face and darting, f airylike ways* 

"Guess again!" returned a dignified senior. 
"Her father is one of the students, Haven ? t 
you noticed that fine-looking Willard? The 
mother, too, knows how to appreciate a college, 
I understand used to be a teacher back in New 
York where they came from." 

"You don't mean to say that this happy little 
goldfinch is the child of two such solemn owls !" 
exclaimed the other. 

"Nothing of the sort. They are very wide- 
awake, alive sort of people, I assure you, the 
kind who ? d make a success of anything. The 
father wants to be a preacher, they say wait, 
there he comes now ! * ? 

It was plain to be seen that Mr. "Willard was 
an alert, capable man and a good father. The 
little girl ran to him with a joyful cry, and a 
sturdy lad who had been trying to climb a tree 
bounded forward at the same time, 



"1 trust that my small fry have n ? t been mak- 
ing trouble, ? ? said the man, giving his free hand 
to Frances and graciously allowing Oliver to 
carry two of Ms armful of books. 

"Only making friends," the senior responded 
genially,, "and one can see that they can ? t very 
well help thai" 

The Oberlin years were a happy, friendly 
time for all the family. While both father and 
mother were working hard to make the most of 
their long-delayed opportunity for a liberal edu- 
cation, they delighted above all in the com- 
panionship of neighbors with tastes like their 
own. After five years, however, it became 
clear that the future was not to be after their 
planning. Mr. Willard's health failed, and a 
wise doctor said that lie must leave his book- 
world., and take up a free, active life in the open. 
So the little family joined the army of west- 
ward-moving pioneers. 

Can yon picture the three prairie-schooners 
that carried them and all their goods to the new 
home? The father drove the first ? Oliver gee- 
hawed proudly from the high perch of the next ? 
and mother sat in the third, with Frances and 



little sister Mary on a cusHoned throne made 
out of father's topsyturvy desk. For nearly 
thirty days the little caravan made its way 
now through forests, now across great sweep- 
ing prairies, now over bumping corduroy roads 
that crossed stretches of swampy ground. 
They cooked their bacon and potatoes, gypsy- 
fashion, on the ground, and slept under the 
white hoods of their long wagons, when they 
were not kept awake by the howling of wolves. 

"When Sunday came, they rested wherever the 
day found them sometimes on the rolling 
prairie, where their only shelter from rain and 
sun was the homely schooner, but where at 
night they could look up at the great tent of the 
starry heavens'; sometimes in the cathedral of 
the forest, where they found Jack-in-the-pulpit 
preaching to the other wild-flowers and birds 
and breezes singing an anthem of praise. 

It was -truly a new world through which they 
made their way beginnings all about the 
roughest, crudest sort of beginnings, glorified 
by the brightest hopes. Tiny cabins were 
planted on the edge of the prairies ; rough huts 
of logs were dropped down in clearings in the 


Photo by romi Bros. 

Frances E. Willard 


forest. Everywhere people were working with, 
an energy that could not be daunted felling 
trees, sowing, harvesting, building. As they 

passed by the end of Lake Michigan they caught 
a glimpse of a small, struggling village in the 
midst of a dark, hopeless-looking morass, from 
which they turned aside on seeing the warning 
sign No bottom 'here. That little settlement in 
the swamp was Chicago. 

Northward they journeyed to Wisconsin, 
where on the bluffs above Eock Eiver, not far 
from Janesville, they found a spot with, fertile 
prairie on one side and sheltering, wooded hills 
on the other. It seemed as if the place fairly 
called to them: "This is home. You are my 
people. My -fields and hills and river have been 
waiting many a year ]ust for you ! ? ? 

Here Mr. Willard planted the roof -tree, using 
timber that his own ax had wrested from the 
forest. Year by year it grew with their life. 
"Forest Home/' as they lovingly called it, was 
a low, rambling dwelling, covered with trailing 
vines and all but hidden away in a grove of 
oaks and evergreens. It seemed as If Nature 
had taken over the work of their hands house, 



barns, fields, and orchards and made them her 

dearest care. Here were people after her own 
heart, people who went out eagerly to meet and 
use the things that each day brought. They 
found real zest in plowing fields, laying fences, 
raising cattle,, and learning the ways of soil and 
weather. They learned how to keep rats and 
gophers from devouring their crops, how to 
bank up the house as a protection from hurri- 
canes, and how to fight the prairie fires with 

Frank Willard grew as the trees grew, quite 
naturally, gathering strength from the life 
about her. She had her share in the daily 
tasks; she had, too, a chance for free, happy, 
good times. There was but one other family of 
children near enough to share their plays, but 
the fun was never dependent on numbers or 
novelty. If there were only two members of 
the "Rustic CIub 5? present, the birds and chip- 
munks and other wood-creatures supplied every 
lack. Sometimes when they found themselves 
longing to "pick up and move back among 
folks/ 7 they played that the farm was a city. 
mind to me a kingdom is,' " quoted 


Frank, optimistically; "and I think if we all 
put our minds to it, we can manage to people 
tMs spot on the map very sociably." 

Their city had a model government, and ideal 
regulations for community health and enjoy- 
ment. It had also an enterprising newspaper 
of which Frank was editor. 

Frank was the leader in all of the fun. She 
was the commanding general in that famous 
"Indian fight" when, with Mary and Mother, 
she held the fort against the attack of two dread- 
ful, make-believe savages and a dog. It was 
due to her strategy that the dog was brought 
over to their side by an enticing sparerib and 
the day won. Frank, too, was the captain of 
their good ship Enterprise. 

"If we do live inland,, we don't have to think 
inland, Mary," she said. "What 9 s the use of 
sitting here in Wisconsin and sighing because 
we Ve never seen the ocean. Let *s take this 
hen-coop and go a-sailing. Who knows what 
magic shores we 11 touch beyond our Sea of 

A plank was put across the pointed top of the 
hen-coop, and the children stood at opposite 



ends steering, slowly when the sea was calm 
and more energetically when a storm was brew- 
ing. The hens clucked and the chickens ran 
about in a panic, but the captain calmly charted 
the waters and laid down rules of navigation. 

Perhaps, though, the best times of all were 
those that Frank spent in her retreat at the top 
of a black oak tree, where she could sit weaving 
stories of bright romance to her heart's content 
On the tree she nailed a sign with this painted 
warning: "The Eagle's Nest. Beware I" to 
secure her against intruders. Here she wrote 
a wonderful novel of adventure, some four hun- 
dred pages long. 

But this eagle found that the wings of her 
imagination could not make her entirely free 
and happy. She had to return from the heights 
and the high adventures of her favorite heroes 

to the dull routine of farm lif 4. She was not 


even allowed to ride, as Oliver was. 

" Well, if I can't be trusted to manage a horse, 
I '11 see what can be done with a cow and a 
saddle. I simply must ride something/* Frank 
declared, with a determined toss of her head. 

It took not only determination, but also grim 


endurance and a sense of fun to help her through 
this novel experiment, which certainly had in 
it more excitement than pleasure. However, 
when her father saw her ride by on her long- 
horned steed, he said with a laugh : 

"You have fairly earned a better mount, 
Frank. And 1 suppose there is really no more 
risk of yonr breaking your neck with a horse. " 

That night Frank wrote in her journal: 

"Hurrah! rejoice! A new era has this mo- 
ment been ushered in. Bodfe a horse through 
the corn the acme of my liopes realized. ?? 

In the saddle, with the keen breath of a brisk 
morning in her face, she felt almost free al- 
most a part of the larger life for which she 
longed. "I think I ? m fonder of anything out 
of my sphere than anything in it," she said to 
her mother, whose understanding and sympathy 
never failed her. 

Perhaps she loved especially to pore over a 
book of astronomy and try to puzzle out the 
starry paths on the vast prairie of the heavens, 
because it carried her up and away from her 
every-day world. Sometimes, however, she was 
brought back to earth with a rude bump. 



"When I had to get dinner one Sunday, 1 
fairly cried/ 5 she said. "To come back to fry- 
Ing onions^ when I Ve been among the rings of 
Saturn^ Is terrible." 

She did n ? t at all know what it was for which 
she longed Only she knew that she didn't 
want to grow up to twist up her free curls 
with spiky hair-pins and to wear long skirts 
which seemed to make It plain that a weary 
round of shut-In tasks was all her lot and that 
the happy days of roaming woods and fields 
were over. 

Through all the girlhood 1 ' days at "Forest 
Home" Frank longed for the chance to go to 
a real school as much as she longed to be free. 
Oliver went to the Janesville Academy, and 
later to Belolt College, but she could get only 
fleeting glimpses of his more satisfying life 
through the books he brought home and Ms 
talks of lectures and professors. She remem- 
bered those far-off days at Oberlln as a golden 
time Indeed. There even a girl might have the 
chance to learn the things that Tould set her 
mind and soul free. 

It was a great day for Frances and Mary 


Willard when Mr. Hodge, a Yale man who was, 
like her father, exiled to a life In a new country, 
decided to open a school for the children of the 

neighboring farms. On the never-to-be-forgot- 
ten first day the girls got up long before light, 
put their tin pails of dinner and their satchels 
of books with their coats, hoods, and mufflers, 
and then stood watching the clock, whose pro- 
vokingly measured ticks seemed entirely indif- 
ferent to the eager beating of their hearts. At 
last the hired man yoked the oxen to the long 
"bob-sled," and Oliver drove them over a new 
white road to the new school The doors were 
not yet open. 

"I told you it was much too early," said 
Oliver. "The idea of being so crazy over the 
opening of a little two-by-four school like this I" 

"It does look like a sort of big ground-nut," 
said Frank, with a laugh, "but it 9 s ours to 
crack. Besides, we have a Yale graduate to 
teach us, and Beloit can ? t beat that!" 

"Let ? s go over to Mr. Hodge's for the key, 
and make the fire for him," suggested Mary. 

There was an unusually long entry in Frank's 
diary that night : 



At last Professor Hodge appeared, in Ms long-tailed 
blue coat "with brass buttons,, carrying an armful of school- 
books and a dinner-bell in Ms hand. He stood on the 
steps and rang the bell, long, Ioud 5 and merrily. My 
heart bounded, and I said inside of it, so that nobody 
heard: "At last we are going to school all by ourselves? 
Mary and I, and we are going to have advantages like 
other folks, just as Mother said we should." 0! goody- 
goody-goody! I feel satisfied with the world ? myself, and 
the rest of mankind. 

This enthusiasm for school and study did not 
wane as the days went by. "I want to know 
everything everything " Frank would declare 
vehemently. "It is only knowing that can make 
one free." 

The time came when she was to go away 
to college. "Wistfully she went about saying 
good-by to all the pleasant haunts about "For- 
est Horned For a long time she sat on her old 
perch in the * ' Eagle ? s nest, ? ? looking off towards 
the river and the hills, 

"I think that as I know more, I live more," 
said Frank to her mother that night. "I am 
alive to so many things now that I never thought 
of sis months ago ; and everything is dearer 
is more a part of myself." 

The North- West Female College, at Evans- 

Photo by Harris & Emng 

The statue of Miss Willard in the Capitol at 


ton, Illinois, was Frank ? s alma mater. Here 
her love of learning made her a leader in all 
her classes; and her originality, daring, and 
personal charin made her a leader in the social 
life of the students. She was editor of the col- 
lege paper, and first fun-maker of a lively clan 
whose chief delight it was to shock some of their 
meek classmates out of their unthinking 
"goody-goodness." She was known, for in- 
stance, to have climbed into the steeple and to 
have remained on her giddy perch during an 
entire recitation period in the higher mathe- 

In her days of teaching, Frank was the same 
alert, free, eager-minded, fun-loving girl. First 
in a country school near Chicago, and afterward 
in a seminary in Pittsbarg, she was a successful 
teacher because she never ceased to be a learner. 

" Frank, you have the hungriest soul 1 ever 
saw in a human being. It will never be satis- 
fied ! ?? said one of her friends. 

"I shall never be satisfied until I have entered 
every open door, and I shall not go in alone," 
said Frank. 

In all of her pursuit of knowledge and col- 


ture she was intensely social She was always 
learning with others and for others. A bit 
from her diary in 1866 reveals the spirit in 
which she worked: 

I read a good deal and learn ever so many new things 
every day. I get so hungry to know things. Ill teach 
these girls as well as possible. * , . Girls, girls, girls! 
Questions upon questions. Dear me, it is no small under- 
taking to be elder sister to the whole 180 of them. They 
treat me beautifully, and I think I reciprocate. 

"Miss Willard seems to see us not as we are ? 
but as we hope we are becoming," one of her 
girls said. "And so we simply have to do what 
she believes we can do. 59 

Fo one was a stranger or indifferent to her. 
When her clear blue eyes looked into the eyes 
of another, they always saw a friend. 

Through these early years of teaching 
Frances Willard was learning not only from 
constant study and work with others ? but also 
from sorrow. Her sister Mary was taken 
from her. The story of what her gentle life 
and loving comradeship meant to Frink is told 
in the first and best of Miss "Willard *s books, 
"Nineteen Beautiful Tears, 95 which gives many 
delightful glimpses of their childhood on the 



Wisconsin farm and the school-girl years to- 
gether. Soon after Mary's death "Forest 
Home ?? was sold and the family separated. 
Frank wrote in her journal at this time : 

I am to lose sight of the old familiar landmarks; old 
things are passing from me, whose love is for old things. 
I am pushing out all by myself into the wide^ wide sea. 

The writing of the story of Mary ? s life, to- 
gether with essays and articles of general in- 
terest for the papers and magazines, "took the 
harm out of life for a while. 95 ' In all her writ- 
ing, as in her teaching and later in her public 
speaking, her instinctive faith in people was the 
secret of her power and inflnence as a leader. 

"For myself , I liked the world, believed it 
friendly, and could, see no reason why I might 
not confide in it," she said. 

When another sorrow, the loss of her father, 
threatened to darken her life for a time, a friend 
came to the rescue and "opened a new door ?? 
for her the door of travel and study abroad. 
They lived for two and a half years in Europe^ 
and made a journey to Syria and Egypt. Dur- 
ing much of this time Miss Willard spent nine 
hours a clay in study. She longed to make her 



own the Impressions of beauty and the haunting 
charm of the past. 

"I must really enter Into the life of each 
place/ 3 she said, "if it is only for a few weeks 
or months. I want to feel that I have a right 
to the landscape that I ? m not just an intruding 
tourist, caring only for random sight-seeing.' 3 

But Miss Willard brought back much more 
than a general culture gained through a study 
of art, history, and literature, and a contact 
with civilization. She gained, above all, a vital 
interest in conditions of life, particularly those 
that concern women and their opportunities for 
education, self-expression, and service. The 
Frances E. "Willard that the world knows, the 
org :;?or and leader in social reform, was born 
at this time. On her thirtieth birthday she 
wrote : 

I can do so mneh more when I go home. I shall have a 
hold on life, and a fitness for it so much more assured. 
Perhaps who knows! there may be noble, wide-reaching 
work for me in the years ahead. 

It seemed to Miss Willard, when she returned 
to her own country, that there was, after all, no 
land like America, and no spot anywhere so 



truly satisfying as Best Cottage in Evanston, 
where her mother awaited her home-coming. A 
signal honor awaited her as well. She was 
called to be president of her alma mater; and 
when the college became a part of the North- 
Western University, she remained as Dean of 

At this time many towns and cities of the 
Middle West were the scene of a strange, pa- 
thetic, and heart-stirring movement known as 
the Temperance Crusade. Gentle, home-loving 
women, white-haired mothers bent with toil and 
grief, marched through the streets, singing 
hymns, praying, and making direct appeals to 
keepers of saloons "for the sake of humanity 
and their own souls 5 sake to quit their soul- 
destroying business. " Their very weakness 
was their strength. Their simple faith and the 
things they had suffered through the drink evil 
pleaded for them. A great religious revival 
was under way. 

In Chicago a band of women who were march- 
ing to the City Council to ask that the law for 
Sunday closing of saloons be enforced were 
rudely jostled and insulted by a mob. Miss 



Willard, who had before been deeply stirred by 
the movement, was now thoroughly aroused. 

She made several eloquent speeches in behalf 
of the cause, which was, she said, ^ everybody's 
war." Her first instinct was to leave her col- 
lege and give her all to the work. Then it 
seemed to her that she ought to help just where 
she was that everybody ought. So ? just where 
she waSj the young dean devoted her power of 
eloquent speech and her influence with people to 
the cause. Day by day her interest in reform 
became more absorbing. She realized that the 
early fervor and enthusiasm of the movement 
needed to be strengthened by "sober second 
thought" and sound organization. 

"If I only had more time if I were more 
free!" she exclaimed. 

Then the turn of events did indeed free her 
from her responsibility to her college. A 
change of policy so altered the conditions of 
her work that she decided to resign her charge 
and go east to study the temperance movement. 
The time came when she had to make a final 
choice. Two letters reached her on the same 
day: One asked her to assume the principal- 



ship of an Important school In New York at a 
large salary; the other begged her to take 
charge of the Chicago branch of the Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union at no salary at 
all The girl who had worshiped culture and 
lived in books decided to accept the second call ; 
and turning her back on a brilliant career and 
worldly success, she threw In her lot with the 
most unpopular reform of the day. Frances 
Willard ? the distinguished teacher, writer, and 
lecturer, became a crusader, 

"How can you thinif if right to give up your 
interest in literature and art!" wailed one of 
her friends and admirers. 

"What greater art than to try to restore the 
Image of God to faces that have lost it!" re- 
plied Miss Willard. ^^^^^ 

""I, *^m^ wwi] vi ^ 

Those early days In Chicago were a brave, 
splendid time. Often walking miles, because 
she had no money for car-f are, the inspired cru- 
sader "followed the gleam 59 of her vision of 
what this woman f s movement might accomplish. 
Where others saw only an uncertain group of 
overwrought fanatics, she saw an organized 
army of earnest workers possessed of that 



"loftiest chivalry which comes as a sequel of 
their service to the weakest." 

"I seemed to see the end from the begin- 
ning/ ? she said; "and when one lias done that, 
nothing can discourage or daunt. 95 

Miss Willard often said that she was never 
happier than during this time, when her spirit 
was entirely free, "because she neither longed 
for what the world could give nor feared what 
it might take away She felt very near to the 
poor people among whom she worked. 

"rain a Better friend than you dream/ 5 she 
would say in her heart, while her eyes spoke her 
sympathy and understanding. "I know more 
about you than you think, for I am hungry, 

Of course, in time, the women discovered that 
iheir valued leader did not have an independent 
income as they had imagined (since she had 
never seemed to give a thought to ways and 
means for herself), and a sufficient salary was 
provided for her. But always she spent her 
income as she spent herself to the utmost for 
the work. 

The secret of Miss Willard ? s success as a 


speaker lay in this entire giving of herself. 
The intensity of life, the irrepressible humor ? 
the never-falling sympathy, the spirit that hun- 
gered after all that was "beautiful shone in her 
clear eyes, and, in the pure, vibrant tones of 
her wonderful voiee ? went straight to the hearts 
of all who listened. She did not enter into her 
life as a crusader halt and maimed; all of the 
woman's varied interests and capacities were 
felt in the work of the reformer, 

"She is a great orator because in her words 
the clear seeing of a perfectly poised mind and 
the warm feeling of an intensely sympathetic 
heart are wonderfully blended/ ? said Henry 
Ward Beecher. _ __,, .. 

Miss "Willard was not only a gifted speaker, 
whose pure, flame-like spirit enkindled faith and 
enthusiasm in others; she was also a rare or- 
ganizer and indefatigable worker. As presi- 
dent of the National Union, she visited nearly 
every city and town in the United States, and, 
during a dozen years, averaged one meeting a 
day. The hours spent on trains were devoted 
to making plans and preparing addresses. On 
a trip up the Hudson, while everybody was on 



deck enjoying the scenery, Miss Willard re 
mained in the cabin busy with pad and pencil. 

"I know myself too well to venture out," she 
said to a friend who remonstrated with her. 
* ' There Is work that must be done. ? ? 
""^tinder Miss Willard ? s leadership the work 
became a power in the life and progress of the 
nation and of humanity. There were those 
who objected to the very breadth and Inclusive- 
ness of her sympathies and interests, and who 
protested against the "scatteration" policies, 
that would, they said, lead to no definite goal. 

"I cannot see why any society should impose 
limitations on any good work," said this broad- 
minded leader. "Everything Is not In the tem- 
perance movement, but the temperance move- 
ment should be In everything." 

In 1898 the loyal crusader was called to lay 
down her arms and leave the battle to others. 
She had given so unstintedly to every good 
work all that she was, that at fifty-eight her 
powers of endurance were spent. "I am so 
tired so tired," she said again and again; and 
at the last, with a serene smile, "How beautiful 
It is to be with God!" 



In the great hall of the Capitol ? where each 
State has been permitted to place statues of two 
of its most cherished leaders,, Illinois has put 
the marble figure of Frances E. Willard ? the 
only woman in a company of soldiers and states- 
men. In presenting the statue to the nation ? 
Mr. Foss, who represented Miss Willard ? s own 
district in Illinois, closed Ms address with these 
words : 

Frances E. Wiilard onee said: "If I were asked what 
was the true mission of the ideal woman, I would say, 4 It 
is to make the whole world home-like.' " Illinois, there- 
fore, presents this statue not only as a tribute to her whom 
it represents, one of the foremost women of America., - 
but as a tribute to woman and her mighty influence upon 
our national life; to woman in the home; to woman wher- 
ever she is toiling for the good of humanity; to woman 
everywhere who has ever stood "For Gody for home, for 



We have told the story of our mother's life, possibly at 
too great length; but she herself told it in eight words. 

"Tell me/' Maud asked her once, "what is the ideal aim 
of life'}'' 

She paused a moment, and replied, dwelling thought- 
fully on each word: 

^To learn, to teaeh ? to serve, to enjoy!" 

Life of Julia Word Howe 


TWO little girls were rolling hoops along 
the street when they suddenly caught 
them over their little bare arms and drew up 
close to the railings of a house on the corner. 

"There is the wonderful coach and the little 
girl I told you about, Eliza/ ? whispered Mari- 
etta, pushing back the straw bonnet that shaded 
her face from the sun and pointing with her 

It was truly a magnificent yellow coach, pulled 
by two proud gray horses. Even Cinderella's 
golden equipage could not have been more splen- 
did. Moreover, the little girl who sat perched 
upon the" bright-blue cushioned seat wore an 
elegant blue pelisse, that just matched the heav- 
enly color of the lining, and a yellow-satin bon- 
net that was clearly inspired by the straw-col- 
ored outer shell of the chariot itself. The fair 
chubby face under the satin halo was turned 



toward the children, and a pair of clear gray 
eyes regarded them with eager interest. 

"She looked as if she wanted to speak P* said 
Marietta, breathlessly. "Oh ? Eliza, did yon 
ever see any one so beautiful? Just like a doll 
or a fairy-tale princess!" 

"Huh!" cried Eliza, the scornful; "didn't 
you see that she has red hair! Who ever heard 
of a doll or a princess with red hair? 59 

"Maybe a witch or a bad fairy turned her 
spun-gold locks red for spite, ? * suggested Mari- 
etta. "Anyway, 1 wouldn't mind red hair if 
1 was in her place so rich and all. Would n ? t 
it be grand to ride in a fine coach and have 
everything you want even before you stop to 
wish for iiV 

How astonished Marietta would have been if 
she could have known that the little lady in the 
chariot was wishing that she were a little girl 
with a hoop! For even when she was very 
small Julia Ward had other trials besides the 
red hair. Nowadays,, people realize that red- 
gold hair is a tine "crowning glory," but it 
wasn't the style to like it in 1825, at the time 
this story begins. So little Julia's mother tried 



her best to tone down the bright color with 
sobering washes and leaden combs. One day ? 
however, the child heard a visitor say, "Your 
little girl is very beautiful ; her hair is pretty, 
too, with that lovely complexion. " 

Eagerly Julia climbed upon a chair and then 
on the high, old-fashioned dressing-table, so that 
she could gaze in the mirror to her heart's con- 
tent. "Is that all! J? she cried after a moment, 
and scrambled down, greatly disappointed. 

Eliza and Marietta would have been truly 
amazed if they had known that the little queen 
of the splendid coach had very little chance for 
the good times that a child loves. In these days 
I really believe that people would pity her and 
say, "Poor little rich girl! 55 She was brought 
up with the greatest strictness. There were 
many lessons, French, Latin, music, and danc- 
i n g ? f or s ]ie must have an education that would 
fit her to shine in her high station. When she 
went out for an airing, it was always in the big 
coach, "like a Ettle lady. ?? There was never 
a chance for a hop-skip-and-jump play-hour. 
Her delicate cambric dresses and kid slippers 
were only suited to sedate indoor ways, and 



even when she was taken to the sea-shore for a 
holiday, her face was covered with a thick green 
veil to keep her fair skin from all spot and 
blemish* Dignity and Duty were the guardian 
geniuses of Julia "Ward's childhood, 

Her father, Samuel Ward, was a rich New 
York banker, with a fine American sense of 
noblesse oblige. He believed that a man ? s 
wealth and influence spell strict accountability 
to his country and to God, and Tie lived accord- 
ing to that belief. He believed that as a banker 
his most vital concern was not to make himself 
richer and richer, but to manage money mat- 
ters in such a way as to serve his city and the 
nation as a whole. In those times of financial 
stress which came to America in the early part 
of the nineteenth century, his heroic efforts 
more than once enabled his bank to weather a 
financial storm and uphold the credit of the 
State. On one occasion his loyalty and un- 
flagging zeal secured a loan of five million dol- 
lars from the Bank of England in the nick of 
time to avert disaster. 

"Julia," cried her brother, who had Just 


come la from Wall Street, "men have been go- 
Ing up and down the office stairs all clay long ? 
carrying little wooden kegs of gold on their 
backs ? marked Priitie ? Ward & King 9 and filled 
with English gold!" 

Mr. Ward, however, did not see the tri- 
umphal procession of the kegs; he was pros- 
trated by a severe Illness,, due, It was said, to 
Ms too exacting labors. Years afterward, Mr. 
Ward's daughter said that her best Inheiitaiice 
from the old firm was the fact that her father 
had procured this loan which saved the honor 
of the Empire State. 

"From the time I was a tiny child," said 
Julia Ward, "I had heard stories of my an- 
cestors colonial governors and officers in the 
Revolution, among whom were numbered Gen- 
eral Nathanael Greene and General Marion, the 
' Swamp Fox* whose ' fortress was the good 
green wood/ whose *tent the cypress-tree. 9 
When I thought of the brave and honorable men 
and the fair and prudent wives and daughters 
of the line, they seemed to pass before my un- 
worthy self * terrible as an army with banner s ? 



- but there was, too, the trumpet-call of in- 
spiration In the thought that they were truly 
mine own people." 

If a sense of duty and the trumpet-call of her 
forebears urged little Julia on to application in 
her early years, she soon learned to love study 
for its own sake. When, at nine years of age, 
she began to attend school, she listened to such 
purpose to the recitations of a class in Italian 
that she presently handed to the astonished 
principal a letter correctly written in that lan- 
guage, begging to be admitted to the study of 
the tongue whose soft musical vowels had 
charmed her ear. She had not only aptitude, 
but genuine fondness, for languages, and early 
tried various experiments In the nse of her own. 
When a child of ten she began to write verse, 
and thereafter the expression of her thoughts 
and feelings In poetic form was as natural as 

If you could have seen some of the solemn 
verses entitled, "All things shall pass." and, 
"We return no more," written by the child not 
yet in her teens, you might have said, "What 
an extraordinary little girl! Has she always 



been ill, or lias she never had a chance for a 
good time! " 

It was certainly true that life seemed a very 
serious thing to the child. Her eyes were con- 
tinually turned inward, for they had not 
Tbeen taught to discover and enjoy the things of 
interest and delight in the real world. New 
York was in that interesting stage of its growth 
that followed upon the opening of the Erie 
Canal. Not yet a city of foreigners, the melt- 
ing-pot of all nations, the commercial oppor- 
tunities which better communication with the 
Great Lakes section gave caused unparalleled 
prosperity. In 1335 the metropolis had a popu- 
lation of 200,000; but Broadway was still in 
large part a street of dignified brick residences 
with bright green blinds and brass knockers, 
along which little girls could roll their hoops, 
Canal Street was a popular boulevard, with a 
canal bordered by trees running through the 
center and a driveway on either side; and the 
district neighboring on the Battery and Castle 
Garden was still a place of wealth and fashion. 

It is to be doubted, however, if Julia Ward 
ever saw anything on her drives to call her out 



of her day-dreaming self. Nor had she eyes 
for the marvels of nature. The larkspurs and 
laburnums in the garden had no language that 
she could understand. "I grew up/ 9 she said, 
6 ' with the city measure of the universe my own 
honse ? somebody else^s, the trees in the park, 
a strip of blue sky overhead^ and a great deal 
about nature read from the best authors, most 
of which meant nothing at all. Years later I 
learned to enjoy the drowsy murmur of green 
fields in midsummer^ the song of birds and the 
ways of shy wood-flowers ? when my own chil- 
dren opened the door into that mighty world 
of eye and ear/ ** 

When Julia was sixteen, the return of her 
brother from Germany opened a new door of 
existence to her. She had just left school and 
had begun to study in real earnest. So serious 
was she in her devotion to her self-imposed 
tasks that she sometimes bade a maid tie her 
In a chair for a certain period. Thus ? in bonds, 
with a mind set free from all temptation to 
roam, she wrestled with the difficulties of Ger- 
man, grammar and came off victorious. But 
Brother Sam led her to an appreciation of some- 



tiling besides the poetry of Schiller and Goethe, 
He had a keen and wholesome enjoyment of 
the world of people, and in the end succeeded 
in giving his young sister a taste of natural 
youthful gaiety. 

"Sir/* said Samuel, Junior, to his father one 
evening, "you do not keep in view the impor- 
tance of the social tie. ?5 

"The social what? ?? asked the amazed Puri- 

"The social tie, sir. ?? 

"I make small account of that," rejoined the 
father, coldly. 

"I will die in defense of it!" retorted the 
son, hotly. 

The young man found, however, that it was 
more agreeable to live for the social tie than to 
die for it. And Julia ? "beginning to long for 
something besides family evenings with books 
and music varied by an occasional lecture or a 
visit to the house of an uncle, seemed to herself 
"like a young damsel of olden times ? shut up 
within an enchanted castle, 9 * When she was 
nineteen she decided upon a declaration of in- 
dependence. If she could only muster the cour- 


age to meet her affectionate jailer face to f ace^ 
she thought that the bars of Ms prejudice 
against fashionable society must surely fall. 

"I am going to give a party a party of my 
very own/ 9 she announced to her brothers; 
"and you must help me with the list of guests." 

Having obtained her fatlier ? s permission to 
invite a few friends "to spend the evening/ 5 
she set about her preparations. This first 
party of her young life should, she resolved, be 
correct In every detail. The best caterer in 
New York was engaged, and a popular group of 
musicians. She even introduced a splendid cut- 
glass chandelier to supplement the conservative 
lighting of the drawing-room. "My first party 
must be a brilliant success/ 9 she said ? with a 
smile and a determined tilt of her chin. 

A brilliant company was gathered to do the 
debutante honor on the occasion of her auda- 
cious entrance into society. Mr. "Ward showed 
no surprise, however, when he descended the 
stairs and appeared upon the festive scene. 
He greeted the guests courteously and watched 
the dancing without apparent displeasure. 
Julia, herself, betrayed no more excitement 



than seemed natural to the acknowledged belle 
of the evening, but her heart was beating in a 
fashion not quite in tune with, the music of the 
fiddles. When the last guest had departed she 
went,, according to custom, to bid her father 
good night. And now caine the greatest sur- 
prise of all! Mr. Ward took the young girPs 
hand in his. "My daughter," he said with 
tender gravity, "I was surprised to see that 
your idea of *a few friends 9 differed widely 
from mine. After this you need not hesitate to 
consult me freely and frankly about what you 
want to do. 5 ? Then, kissing her good night with 
his usual affection, he dismissed the subject for- 

Julia's brief skirmish for independence 
proved not a rebellion, but a revolution. Her 
brother's marriage to Miss Emily Astor intro- 
duced an era of gaiety at this time ; and when 
the young girl had once fairly taken her place 
in society, there was no such tiling as going 
back to the old life. " Jolie Julie/ ? as she was 
lovingly called in the home-circle, became a 
reigning favorite. Even rumors of her amaz- 
ing blue-stocking tendencies could not spoil her 



success. It was whispered that she was given 
to quoting German philosophy and French 
poetry. "I believe she dreams in Italian/ * 
vowed one greatly awed damsel 

However that might be ? "Jolie Julie " cer- 
tainly had a place in the dreams of many. Her 
beauty and charm won all hearts. The bright 
hair was now an acknowledged glory above the 
apple-blossom fairness of her youthful bloom. 
But it was not alone the loveliness of the deli- 
cately molded features and the tender bright- 
ness of the clear gray eyes that made her a suc- 
cess. Notwithstanding the early neglect of 
"the social tie," it was soon plain that she had 
the unfailing tact, the ready mt, and native 
good humor that are the chief assets of the 
social leader who is "born to the purple. 5 * Be- 
sides, Miss "Ward's unusual acquirements could 
be turned so as to masquerade, in their rosy 
linings, as accomplishments. Her musical gifts 
were not reserved for hours of solitary musing, 
but were freely devoted to the pleasure of her 
friends ; and even the lofty poetic Muse could on 
occasion indulge in a comic gambol to the great 
delight of her intimates. 



Miss Ward soon tried her wings in other 
spheres beyond New York. She found a ready 
welcome in Boston's select inner circle, where 
she made the acquaintance of Longfellow, 
Emerson ? "Whittier, Holmes ? and other leading 
figures in the literary world. Charles Sumner, 
the brilliant statesman and reformer, was an 
intimate friend of her brother, and through 
him. she met Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, who 
not long after became her husband. 

From both Longfellow and Snmner Miss 
"Ward had heard glowing accounts of their 
friend Howe, who was, they declared, the truest 
hero that America and the nineteenth century 
had produced and the best of good comrades. 
He had earned the name of "Chevalier" among 
Ms friends because he was "a true Bayard, 
without fear and without reproach/ 5 and be- 
cause he had, moreover? been made a Knight of 
St. George by the King of Greece for distin- 
guished services during the Greek war for 
independence. For six years he had fought 
with the patriots, both in the field and as 
surgeon-in-chief. While in hiding with his 
wounded among the bare rocks of the heights, 



lie had sometimes nothing to eat but roasted 
wasps and mountain snails, "When the people 
were without food, he had returned to America, 
related far and wide the story of Greece's strug- 
gles and dire need, and brought "back a ship- 
load of food and clothing. Having relieved the 
distress of the people, he had helped them to 
get in touch with normal existence once more 
by putting them to work A hospital was 
built, and a mole to enclose the harbor at 
:/Egina. Then, after seeing the hitherto dis- 
tracted peasants begin a new life as self-re- 
specting farmers, lie had returned to Amer- 

At this time he was doing pioneer work in the 
education of the blind. As director of the 
Perkins Institution, in Boston, he was not only 
laboring to make more efficient this first school 
for the blind in America, but he was also going 
about through the country with his pupils to 
show something of what might be done In the 
way of practical training, in order to induce the 
legislatures of the several States to provide 
similar institutions for those deprived of sight. 
In particular, Dr. Howe's success in teaching 


Julia Ward Howe 


Laura Bridgman, a blind deaf-mute ? was the 
marvel of the civilized world. 
One day, when Longfellow and Stunner were 

calling upon Miss Ward, they suggested driv- 
ing over to the Perkins Institution. When they 
arrived the hero of the hour and the place 
was absent. Before they left, however, Mr. 
Sunnier, who had been looking out of the win- 
dow, suddenly exclaimed, "There Is Howe now 
on his black horse!" Miss Ward looked with 
considerable eagerness in her curiosity, and 
saw, as she afterward said, "a noble rider on 
a noble steed. 9? 

In this way the Chevalier rode into the life 
of the fair lady. As the knight of the ballad 
swung the maiden of Ms choice to the croup 
of his charger and galloped off with her in the 
face of her helpless kinsmen, so this serious 
philanthropist and reformer carried off the 
lovely society favorite, in spite of the fact that 
he cared not at all for her gay, care-free world, 
and was, moreover, twenty years her senior. 
The following portion of a letter which Miss 
Ward wrote to her brother Sam shows how 
completely she was won: 



The Chevalier says truly I am the captive of Ms bow 
and spear. His true devotion has won me from the world 
and from myself. The past is already fading from my 
sight ; already I begin to live with him in the future, which 
shall be as calmly bright as true love can make it. I am 
perfectly satisfied to sacrifice to one so noble and earnest 
the day-dreams of my youth. 

Dr. Howe and Ms bride went to Europe on 
their wedding-trip on the same steamer with 
Horace Mann and Ms newly made wife, Mary 
Peal)ody ? the sister of Mrs. Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne. The teacher of Laura Bridgman was 
well known in England through Dickens ? s 
"American Notes," and people were anxious to 
do him honor. Dickens not only invited the 
interesting Americans to dinner, but he offered 
to pilot Dr. Howe and Ms brother reformer, 
Horace Mann, about darkest London and show 
them the haunts of misery and crime which no 
one knew better than the author of "Oliver 
Twist," "Little Don-it," and "Bleak House." 
The following note ? written in Dickens ? s charac- 
teristic hand ? shows the zest with which the 
great novelist undertook these expeditions and 
Ms boyish love of fun : 

My dear Howe, Drive to-night to St. Gileses Church. 

Be there at half past 11 and wait. Somebody will put 



Ms head Into the coach after a Venetian and mysterious 
fashion, and breathe your name. Follow that man. Trust 
him to the death. 

So no more at present from 
Ninth June, 1843. THE MASK. 

It had been the plan to go from England to 
Berlin; but Dr. Howe, who had once Incurred 
the displeasure of the king of Prussia by giving 
aid to certain Polish refugees, and had, indeed, 
been held for five weeks in a German prison? 
was now excluded from the country as a 
"dangerous person." This greatly amused 
Horace Mann, who remarked, "When we con- 
sider that His Majesty has 200,000 men, con- 
stantly under arms, and can in need increase 
the number to two million, we begin to appre- 
ciate the estimation in which he holds your 
single self." "When, some years later, the king 
sent Dr. Howe a medal in recognition of his 
work for the blind, the Chevalier declared 
laughingly: "It is worth just what I was 
obliged to pay for board and lodging while in 
the Berlin prison. His Majesty is magnani- 

After traveling through Switzerland, Italy, 
and France, the Howes stopped for a second 



visit to England, where they were entertained 
for a time by the parents of Florence Night- 
ingale. A warm attachment sprang up between 
them and the earnest young woman of twenty- 

"I want to ask your advice, Dr. Howe/ 9 said 
Miss Nightingale, one day. "Would It be un- 
suitable for a young Englishwoman to devote 
herself to works of charity in hospitals and 
wherever needed, just as the Catholic sisters 

The doctor replied gravely, "My dear Miss 
Florence, it would be unusual ? and in England 
whatever is unusual Is apt to be thought unsuit- 
able ; but I say to you, go forward, If you have 
a vocation for that way of life ; act up to your 
Inspiration, and you will find that there is never 
anything unbecoming or unladylike in doing 
your duty for the good of others.' 9 

After the Howes had returned to Boston and 
settled down to the work-a-day order in the In- 
stitution the young wife's loyalty to the new 
life was often sorely tried. She loved the sun- 
shine of the bright, gracious world of leisurely, 
happy people, and she felt herself chilled in this 



bleak gray place of sober duties. If only she 
could warm herself at the fire of friendship 
oftener! But all the pleasant people lived in 
pleasant places too far from the South Boston 
institution for the give and take of easy inter- 
course. Dr. Howe ? moreover, was much of the 
time so absorbed in the causes of which he was 
champion-in-chief that few hours were saved 
for quiet fireside enjoyment. 

"I hardly know what I should have done in 
those days/* said Mrs. Howe ? "without the 
companionship of my babies and Miss Catherine 
Beecher ? s cook-book. " 

The Chevalier loved to invite for a weekly 
dinner his especial group of intimates five 
choice spirits, among whom Longfellow and 
Sunnier were numbered, who styled themselves 
"The Five of Clubs. J? These dinners brought 
many new problems to the young hostess, who 
now wished that some portion of her girlhood 
days lavished on Italian and music had been 
devoted to the more intimate side of menus. 
However^ she was before long able to take pride 
in her puddings without renouncing poetry; 
and to keep an eye on the economy of the kitchen 



and her sense of linmor at the same time, as 
the following extract from a breezy letter to 
her sister Louisa can testify : 

Onr house has been enlivened of late by two delightful 
visits. The first was from the soap-fat merchant, who 
gave me thirty-four pounds of good soap for my grease. 
I was quite beside myself with joy, capered about in the 
most enthusiastic manner 3 and was going to hug in turn 
the soap, the grease, and the man, when I reflected that it 
would not sound well in history. This morning came the 
rag man, who takes rags and gives nice tin vessels in ex- 
change. . . . Both of these were clever transactions. Oh ? if 
you had seen me stand by the soap-fat man, and scrutinize 
his weights and measures, telling him again and again that 
it was beautiful grease, and that he must allow me a good 
price for it truly, I am a mother in Israel. 

The hours spent with her wee daughters were 
happy times. Sometimes she improvised jin- 
gles to amuse Baby Flossy (Florence, after 
Florence Nightingale) and tease the absorbed 
father-reformer at the same time: 

Rero, rero, riddlety rad, 

This morning my baby caught sight of her dad, 
Quoth she, "Oh, Daddy, where have you beenf" 
"With Mann and Sumner a-putting down sin!" 

Sometimes she sang little bedtime rhymes about 
lambs and baby birds, sheep and sleep; and ? 
when the small auditors demanded that their 



particular pets have a part in the song ; readily 
added : 

The little donkey In the stable 
Sleeps as sound as he is able; 
All things now their rest pursue^ 
You are sleepy too. 

As soon as Dr Howe could find a suitable 
place near the Institution lie moved Ms little 
family into a home of their own. On the bright 
summer day when Mrs, Howe drove under the 
bower formed by the fine old trees that guarded 
the house? she exclaimed^ "Oh, this is green 
peace!" And "Green Peace" their home was 
called from that day. The children enjoyed 
here healthful outdoor times and happy indoor 
frolics plays given at their dolls 9 theater, when 
father and mother worked the puppets to a 
dialogue of squeaks and grunts ; and really-tnily 
plays ? such as "The Three Bears" (when 
Father distinguished himself as the Great Big 
Huge Bear), "The Eose and the Bing," and 

In the midst of the joys and cares of such 
a rich home-life, how was It that the busy 
mother still found time for study and writing? 


For she was always a student, keeping her mind 
In training as an athlete keeps Ms muscles ; and 
the need of finding expression In words for her 
inner life became more Insistent as time went 
on. One of her daughters once said : 

"It was a matter of course to us children that Tapa 
and Mamma 7 should play with us, sing to us, tell us stories, 
bathe our bumps, and accompany us to the dentist; these 
were the things that papas and mammas did! Looking 
back now with some realization of all the other things 
they did, we wonder how they managed it. For one thing, 
both were rapid workers; for another, both had the power 
of leading and inspiring others to work; for a third, 
so far as we can see, neither wasted a moment; for a 
fourth, neither ever reached a point where there was 
not some other task ahead, to be begun as soon as might 

Life with the beloved reformer was often far 
from easy, but there were never any regrets for 
the old care-free days. "I shipped as captain's 
mate for the voyage ! ?? she said on one occasion, 
with a merry laugh that was like a heartening 
cheer; and then she added seriously, "I cannot 
imagine a more useful motto for married life. 55 
Always she realized that she owed all that was 
deepest and most steadfast in herself to this 



union* "But for the Chevalier, I should have 
been merely a woman of the world and a lit- 
erary dabbler !" she said. 

A volume of verse, "Passion Flowers, ?? was 
praised Tby Longfellow and Whittier and won 
a wide popularity. A later collection, "Words 
for the Hour/ 5 was, on the whole, better, but 
not so much read* Still, the woman felt that 
she had not yet really found herself in her 
work. She longed to give something that was 
vital something that would fill a need and 
make a difference to people in the real world 
of action. 

The days of the Civil War made every ear- 
nest spirit long to be of some service to the na- 
tion and to humanity. Dr. Howe and his 
friend were among the leaders of the Abolition- 
ists at the time when they were a despised 
"party of cranks and martyrs. 55 It was small 
wonder that, when the struggle came, Mrs. 
Howe's soul was fired with the desire to help. 
There seemed nothing that she could do but 
scrape lint for the hospitals which any other 
woman could do equally well If only her po- 
etic gift were not such a slender reed if she 



could "but command an instrument of trumpet 
strength to voice the spirit of the hour ! 

In this mood she had gone to Washington to 
see a review of the troops. On returning, while 
her carriage was delayed by the marching regi- 
ments, her companions tried to relieve the ten- 
sity and tedium of the wait by singing war 
songs., among others: 

"John Brown's body lies a-znoidering in the grave; 
His soul is marching on !" 

The passing soldiers caught at this with a 
"Good for you! ?? and joined in the chorus. 
"Mrs. Howe/ 5 said her minister, James Free- 
man Clarke, who was one of the company, "why 
do you not write some really worthy words for 
that stirring tune? 95 

U I have often wished to do so, ?J she replied. 

Let us tell the story of the writing of the 
"nation's song" as her daughters have told it 
in the biography of their mother : 

WaMng in the gray of the nest morning, as she lay 
waiting for the dawn the word came to her, 

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 

She lay perfectly still Line by line, stanza by stanza, 
the words eame sweeping on with the rhythm of marching 



feet, pauseless, resistless. She saw the long lines swinging 
into place before her eyes, heard the voice of the nation 
speaking through her lips. She waited till the voice was 
silent, till the last line was ended; then sprang from bed, 
and, groping for pen and paper, scrawled in the gray 
twilight the "Battle Hymn of the Republic." 

And so the "nation's song" was born* How 
did it come to pass that the people knew it as 
their own? When it appeared in the "Atlantic 
Monthly" it called forth little comment; the 
days gave small chance for the poetry of words. 
But some poets in the real world of deeds had 
seen it the people who were fighting on the 
nation's battle-fields. And again and again it 
was sung and chanted as a prayer before battle 
and a trnmpet-call to action. A certain fight- 
ing chaplain, who had committed it to memory, 
sang it one memorable night in Libby Prison, 
when the joyful tidings of the victory of Gettys- 
burg had penetrated even those gloomy walls. 
"Like a flame the word flashed through the 
prison. Men leaped to their feet, shouted, em- 
braced one another in a frenzy of joy and tri- 
umph; and Chaplain HcCabe, standing in the 
middle of the room, lifted up his great voice 
and sang aloud: 



"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 

Every voice took up the chorus^ and Libby 
Prison rang with the slaout of * Glory ? glory, 
hallelujah !' " 

Later, when Chaplain. McOabe related to a 
great audience in Washington the story of that 
night and ended by singing the "Battle Hymn 
of the Bepublie," as only one who lias lived it 
can sing it, the voice of Abraham Lincoln was 
heard above the wild applause, calling, as the 
tears rolled down Ms cheeks, "Sing it again! 59 

It has been said that what a person does in 
some great moment of his life in a moment of 
fiery trial or of high exaltation is the result of 
all the thoughts and deeds of all the slow-chang- 
ing days. So the habits of a lifetime cry out 
at last. Is it not true that this "nation's 
song, " which seemed to write itself in a wonder- 
ful moment of inspiration, was really the ex- 
pression of years of brave, faithful living? All 
the earnestness of the child, all the dreams and 
warm friendliness of the girl, all the tenderness 
and loyal devotion of the wife and mother, 
speak in those words. Nor is it the voice of 



her life alone. The trumpet-call of her fore- 
bears was In those stirring lines* Only a tried 
and true American, whose people had fought 
and suffered for freedom's sake,p could have 
written that nation's song. 

Julia "Ward Howe ? s long life of ninety-one 
years was throughout one of service and in- 
spiration. Many people were better and hap- 
pier because of her life. It was a great mo- 
ment when ? on the occasion of any public gath- 
ering^ the word went around that Mrs. Howe 
was present. "With one accord those assembled 
would rise to their feet, and hall or theater 
would ring with the inspiring lines of the 
"Battle Hymn of the Kepnblic." 

The man who said, "I care not who shall 
make the laws of the nation, if I may be per- 
mitted to make its songs," spoke wisely. A 
true song comes from the heart and goes to the 
heart. A nation f s song is the voice of the heart 
and life of a whole people. la it the hearts of 
many beat together as one* 



Nothing bigger can come to a human being than to love 

a great Cause more than life itself, and to have the privi- 
lege throughout life of working for that Cause. 



A YOUNG girl was standing on a stump 
in the woods 5 waving her arms and 
talking very earnestly. There was no one 
there to listen except a robin a-tilt on a branch 
where the afternoon sun conld turn his rusty 
brown breast to red ? and a chattering, inquisi- 
tive bluejay. All the other little wood folk 
were in hiding. That strange creature was in 
the woods but not of them. She belonged to 
the world of people. 

The girl knew that she belonged to a differ- 
ent world. She was not trying to play that she 
was a little American Saint Francis preaching 
to the birds in the forests of northern Michi- 
gan. She was looking past the great trees and 
all the buay life that lurked there to the far- 
away haunts of men. Somehow she felt that 
she would have something to say to them some 



She raised her clasped hands high above her 
head and lifted her face to the patch of sky 
that gleamed deep blue between the golden- 
green branches of the trees. "There is much 
that I can say/' she declared fervently. "I 
am only a girl, but I feel in my heart that some 
day people will listen to me." 

A gray squirrel scampered noisily across the 
dry brown leaves and frisked up a tree trunk, 
where lie clung for a moment regarding the 
girl on the stump with shining, curious eyes. 

"Saucy nutcracker!' 9 cried the child, toss- 
ing an acorn at the alert little creature, "Do 
you too think it strange for a girl to want to do 
things! What would you say if I should tell 
you that a young girl once led a great army to 
victory! a poor girl who had to work hard all 
day just as I do! She did not know how to 
read or write, but she knew how to answer all 
the puzzling questions that the learned and 
powerful men of the day (who tried with all 
their might to trip her up) could think to ask. 
They called her a witch then. 'Of a truth this 
girl Joan must be possessed of an evil spirit, 9 
they said. *Who ever heard of a maid speak- 



ing as she speaks V Years afterward they 
called her a saint. She was the leader of her 
people even though she was a girl Now I 
don ? t mean, fellow birds and squirrels, that I 
expect to "be another Joan o Arc, but 1 know 
that I shall be something!" 

Anna Shaw's bright dark eyes glowed with 
intense feeling. Like the maid of whom she 
had been reading, she had her vision a vision 
of a large, happy life waiting for herlittle, 
untaught backwoods girl though she was. Her 
book led the way clown a charmed path into the 
world of dreams. For the time she forgot the 
drudgery of the days the plowing and plant- 
ing and hoeing about the stumps of their little 
clearing, the cutting of wood, the carrying of 
water. She walked back to the cabin that was 
home ? with her head held high and her lips 
parted in a smile. But all at once she was 
brought back to real things with a rude bump. 

"What have you been doing, Anna? 55 de- 
manded her father, who stood waiting for her 
in the doorway. 

"Beading, sir," the girl faltered. 

"So you have been idling away precious 


hours at a time your mother has needed your 
helpf ?? the stern voice went on accusingly. 
"What do you suppose the future will bring to 
one who has not proved 'faithful in little ? ? ?? 

The girl looked at her father without speak- 
ing. She knew that her share in the work of 
the household was not "little." Her young 
hands hardened from rough toil twitched nerv- 
ously; the injustice cut her to the quick. 
Couldn't her father imagine what holding 
down that claim in the woods had meant for 
the little family during the eighteen months 
that he and the two older boys had remained 
behind in the East? In his joy at securing the 
grant of land from the Government, he already 
pictured the well-conditioned farm that would 
one day be his and his children ? s. "The acorn 
was not an acorn ? but a forest of young oaks. 9 9 

In a flash she saw as if it were yesterday the 
afternoon when their pathetic little caravan had 
at last reached the home that awaited them. 
She saw the frail, tired mother give one glance 
at the rude log hut in the stump-filled clearing, 
and then sink in a despairing heap on the dirt 
floor. It was but the hollow shell of a cabin 



walls and roof, with square holes for door 
and windows gaping forlornly at the home- 
seekers. Slie heard the wolves and wildcats 
as she had on that first night when they had 

huddled together helpless creatures from an- 
other world not knowing if their watch-fires 
would keep the hungry beasts at bay. She saw 
parties of Indians stalk by in war-paint and 
feathers. She saw herself, a child of twelve^ 
trudging wearily to the distant creek for water 
until the time when, with her brother's help, 
she dng a well. There was, too, the work of 
laying a floor and putting in doors and win- 
dows. Like Eobinson Crusoe, she had served 
a turn at every trade ; to-day that of carpenter 
or builder, to-morrow that of farmer, fisher- 
man, or woodcutter. 

As these pictures flashed before the eye of 
memory she looked at her father quietly, with- 
out a word of defense or self-pity. All she said 
was, "Father, some day I am going to college. ?? 

The little smile that curled Ms lips as he 
looked Ms astonishment drove her to another 
boast. The dreams of the free calm woods and 
the heroic Maid of Orleans had faded away* 



Somehow she longed to put forth her claim In 
a way to impress any one, even a man who felt 
that a girl ought not to want anything but 
drudging. "And before I die I shall "be worth 
$10,00(V ? she prophesied boldly. 

However, the months that succeeded gave no 
sign of any change of fortune. A sudden storm 
turned a day of toil now and then into a red- 
letter day when one had chance to read the 
books that father had brought with him Into the 
wilderness. Sometimes one could stretch at 
ease on the floor and dreamily scan the pages 
of the " Weekly 55 that papered the walls. 
There was always abundant opportunity in the 
busy hours that followed to reflect on what one 
had read to compare, to contrast, and to ap- 
ply, and so to annex for go'od and all the ideas 
that the books had to give. 

It was clear, too, that there were many in- 
teresting things to be seen and enjoyed even in 
the most humdrum work-a-day round, if one 
were able to read real life as well as print. 
Could anything be more delightful than the 
way father would drop his hoe and run into the 
house to work out a problem concerning the 



yield of a certain number of kernels of corn! 
T3ie days would go by while lie calculated and 
speculated energetically over this problem and 
that, leaving such trivial tasks" as planting and 
plowing to others. Then there were the week- 
end visitors. Often as many as ten or a dozen 
of the neighboring settlers. big lumbermen and 
farmers would come on Saturday, to spend 
the night and Sunday listening to her father 
read. When it was delicately hinted that this 
was a tax on the family store of tallow dips, 
each man dutifully brought a candle to light 
the way to learning. It never seemed to oc- 
cur, either to them or to the impractical father 3 
who liked nothing better than reading and ex- 
pounding, that the entertainment of so many 
guests was a severe tax on the strength and 
patience of the working members of the house- 

But life was not all labor. There was now 
and then a wonderful ball at Big Eapids, then 
a booming lumber town. "When it was impossi- 
ble to get any sort of a team to make the jour- 
ney, they went down the river on a raft, taking 
their party dresses in trunks. As balls, like 



other good things in pioneer experience, were 
all too rare ? it was the custom to make the most 
of each occasion by changing one's costume at 
midnight, and thus starting off with fresh en- 
thusiasm to dance the " money musk ?? and the 
"Virginia reel" in the small hours. 

' ' Our costumes in those days had at least the 
spice of originality," said Miss Shaw with a 
reminiscent smile. "I well remember a certain 
gay ball gown of my own, made of bedroom 
chintz; and the home-tailored trousers of my 
gallant swain, whose economical mother had 
employed flour sacks, on which the local firm- 
name and the guarantee, *96 pounds, 9 appeared 
indelibly imprinted. A blue flannel shirt and a 
festive yellow sash completed his interesting 

When Anna Shaw was fifteen she began to 
teach in the little log schoolhouse of the settle- 
ment for two dollars a week and "board 
round.' 3 The day's work often meant a walk 
of from three to six miles, a trip to the woods 
for fuel, the making of the wood fire and the 
partial drying of rain-soaked clothes, before 
instruction began. Then imagine the, child of 



fifteen teaching fifteen children of assorted ages 
and dispositions out of fifteen different "read- 
ing books/ ? most of which she had herself sup- 
plied. "I remember that one little girl read 
from a hymn-book, while another had an al- 
manac/' she said. 

As there was no money for such luxuries as 
education until the dog-tax had been collected, 
the young teacher received one bright spring 
day the dazzling sum of twenty-six dollars for 
the entire term of thirteen weeks. In the 
spending of this wealth, spring and youth 
carried the day. Joan of Arc and the preach- 
ing in the woods were for the time forgotten; 
she longed above everything else to have some 
of the pretty things that all girls love. Mak- 
ing a pilgrimage to a real shop, she bought her 
first real party dress a splendid creation of 
rich magenta color, elaborately decorated with 
black braid. 

Perhaps she regretted all too soon the rash- 
ness of this expenditure, for the next year 
brought hard times. War had been declared, 
and Lincoln's call for troops had taken all the 
able-bodied men of the community. "When 



news came that Fort Sumter had "been fired 
on/ ? said Miss Shaw, "our men were thresh- 
ing. I remember seeing a man ride up on 
horseback, shouting out Lincoln's demand for 
troops and explaining that a regiment was be- 
ing formed at Big Eapids. Before he had fin- 
ished speaking the men on the machine had 
leaped to the ground and rushed off to enlist, 
my brother Jack? who had recently joined us, 
among them. ?? 

Anna Shaw was now the chief support of the 
little home in the wilderness, and the pitiful 
sum earned by teaching had to be eked out by 
boarding the workers from the lumber-camps 
and taking in sewing, in order to pay the taxes 
and meet the bare necessities of life. With 
calico selling for fifty cents a yard, coffee for 
a dollar a pound, and everything else in pro- 
portion, one cannot but marvel how the women 
and children managed to exist. They strug- 
gled along, with hearts heavy with anxiety for 
loved ones on the battlefields, to do as best 
they could the work of the men gathering in 
the crops, grinding the corn, and caring for 
the cattle in addition to the homekeeping 



tasks of the dally round It takes, perhaps, 

more courage and endurance to be a faithful 
member of the home army than It does to march 
Into battle with bands playing and colors fly- 

When, at the end of the war, the return of 
the father and brothers freed her from the re- 
sponsibility for the upkeep of the home, Anna 
Shaw determined. upon a bold step. Bealizing 
that years must pass before she could save 
enough from her earnings as country school- 
teacher to go to college, she went to live with a 
married sister in Big Eapids and entered as a 
pupil in the high school there. The precep- 
tress. Miss Lucy Foot, who was a college grad- 
uate and a woman of unusual strength of char- 
acter, took a lively interest in the new student 
and encouraged her ambition to preach by put- 
ting her in the classes in public speaking and 

"I vividly remember my first recitation in 
public," said Miss Shaw. "I was so overcome 
by the Impressiveness of the audience and the 
occasion, and so appalled at my own boldness 
in standing there, that I sank in a faint on the 



platform. Sympathetic classmates carried me 
out and revived me ? after which they naturally 
assumed that the entertainment I furnished 
was over for the evening. I, however, felt 
that if I let that failure stand against me I 
could never afterward speak in public; and 
Within ten minutes, notwithstanding the pro- 
tests of my friends, I was back In the hall and 
beginning my recitation a second time. The 
audience gave me its eager attention. Possi- 
bly It hoped to see me topple off the platform 
again, but nothing of the sort occurred. I 
went through the recitation with self-posses- 
sion and received some friendly applause at 
the end. ?? 

After this maiden speech, the young girl ap- 
peared frequently in public^ now in school de- 
bates, now in amateur theatricals. It was as 
if the Fates had her case particularly in hand 
at this time, for everything seemed to further 
the secret longing that had possessed her ever 
since the days when she had preached to the 
trees in the forest, 

There was a growing sentiment In favor of 
licensing women to preach in the Methodist 



Church, and Dr. Peck, the presiding elder of 
the Big Rapids district, who was chief among 
the advocates of the movement-, was anxious to 
present the first woman candidate for the min- 
istry. Meeting the alert, ardent young student 
at the home of her teacher, Dr. Peck took pains 
to draw her into conversation. Soon she was 
talking freely, with eager animation, and her 
questioner was listening with interest, nodding 
approval now and then. Then an amazing 
tiling happened. Dr. Peek looked at her smil- 
ingly and asked in an off-liand manner : 

"Would you like to preach the quarterly ser- 
mon at Asliton!" 

The young woman gasped; she stared at the 
good man in astonishment. Then she realized 
that he was speaking in entire seriousness. 

"Why," she stammered, "I can't preach a 
sermon ! ' y 

"Have you ever tried?" he asked. 

"Never!" she began, and then as the picture 
of her childish self standing on the stump in 
the sunlit woods flashed upon her, "Never to 
human beings!" she amended. 

Dr. Peck was smiling again. "Well," he 


said, "the door Is open. Enter or not, as you 

After much serious counsel with Miss Foot 
and with her own soul, Anna Shaw determined 
to go in at the open door. For six weeks the 
preparation of the first sermon engaged most 
of her waking thoughts, and even in her dreams 
the text she had chosen sounded in her ears. 
It was, moreover, a time of no little anguish 
of spirit because of the consternation with 
which her family regarded her unusual "call." 
One might as well be guilty of crime, it ap- 
peared, as to be so forward and unwomanly. 
Finding it impossible to bring her to reason in 
any other way, they tried a bribe. After a 
solemn gathering of the clans, it was agreed 
that if she would give up this insane ambition 
to preach, they would send her to college 
to Ann Arbor and defray all her expenses. 
The thought of Ann Arbor was a sore tempta- 
tion ; but she realized that she could no more be 
faithless to the vision that had been with her 
from childhood than she could cease being her- 

The momentous first sermon was the fore- 


runner of many others In different places, and 
when at tiie conference the members were asked 
to vote "whether she should be licensed as a 
local preacher ? the majority of the ministers 
raised both hands! 

She was 3 however, still regarded as the black 
sheep of the family, and It was with a heavy 
spirit that she plodded on day by day with her 
studies. Surely nobody was ever more in need 
of a friendly word than was Anna Shaw at the 
time that Mary A. Liverniore came to lecture 
In Big Bapids. At the close of the meeting 
she was among those gathered in a circle about 
the distinguished speaker, when some one 
pointed her out, remarking that " there was a 
young person who wanted to preach in spite 
of the opposition and entreaties of all her 
friends. 57 

Mrs. Livermore looked Into Anna Shaw's 
glowing eyes with sudden interest; then she 
put her arm about her and said quietly, "My 
dear. If you want to preach, go on and preach. 
No matter what people say, don't let them 
stop you! ?? 

Before Miss Shaw could choke back her emo~ 


tlon sufficiently to reply, one of her good 
friends exclaimed: "Oh ? Mrs. Liveraiore, 
don't say that to her! We ? re all trying to 
stop her. Her people are wretched over the 
whole thing. And don't you see how ill she 
is? She has one foot in the grave and the 
other almost there ! ?? 

"Yes ? ?? said Mrs. Livermore, looking 
thoughtfully at the white face that was turned 
appealingly toward her, "I see she has. But 
it is better that she should die doing the thing 
she wants to do than that she should die be- 
cause she can't do it." 

"So they think I ? m going to die!" cried 
Miss Shaw. "Well, I ? m not! I y m going to 
live and preach P ? 

With renewed zeal and courage she turned 
again to her books, and, in the autumn of 1873, 
entered Albion College. "With only eighteen 
dollars as my entire capital/' she said, "and 
not the least idea how I might add to it, I was 
approaching the campus when I picked up a 
copper cent bearing the date of my birth, 1848. 
It seemed to me a good omen, and I was sure 
of it when within the week I found two more 


Anna Howard Shaw 


pennies exactly like it. Though 1 have more 
than once been tempted to spend those pen- 
nies, I have them still to my great com- 
fort I" 

At college she was distinguished for her In- 
dependence of thought and for her alert, vigor- 
ous mind. When, on being invited to join the 
literary society that boasted both men and 
women members instead of the exclusively 
feminine group, she was assured that "women 
need to be associated with men because they 
don't know how to manage paeetings," she re- 
plied with spirit : 

"If they don't, it ? s high time they learned. 
I shall join the women, and we ? 11 master the 
art 5 ' 

Her gift as a public speaker not only earned 
her a place of prominence in her class throngh 
hei able debates and orations, but it also helped 
pay her way through college, since she received 
now and then five dollars for a temperance talk 
in one of the near-by country sclioolhouses. 
But such sums came at uncertain intervals, and 
her board bills came due with discouraging 
regularity. A gift of ninety-two dollars, sent 



at Christmas by her friends In Big Raplds ? 
alone made It possible for her to get through 
the term. 

Though the second year at Albion was com- 
paratively smooth sailing because her reputa- 
tion had brought enough " calls ?? to preach and 
lecture to defray her modest expenses, she de- 
cided to go to Boston University for her 
theological course. She was able to make her 
way In the West; why was it not possible to 
do the same In the place where she eould get 
the needed equipment for her life work? 

But she soon found what it means to be alone 
and penniless in a large city. Opportunities 
were few and hungry students were many. 
For the first time in her life she was tempted 
to give up and own herself beaten, when a sud- 
den rift came in the clouds of discouragement. 
She was Invited to assist in holding a "revival 
week" in one of the Boston churches. 

It was soon evident that one could live on 
milk and crackers if only hope were added. 
The week ? s campaign was a great success. If 
she herself had not been able to feel the fervor 
and enthusiasm that the meetings had aroused, 



she could have no doubt when the minister as- 
sured her that her help had proved invalu- 
able that he greatly wished he were able to 
give her the fifty dollars? which at the very 
lowest estimate she deserved but alas ! he had 
nothing to offer but his heartfelt thanks ! 

When Miss Shaw passed out of the church 
her heart was indeed heavy. She had failed! 
"I was friendless, penniless, and starving," 
she said, "but It was not of these conditions 
that I thought then. The one overwhelming 
fact was that I had been weighed and found 
wanting. I was not worthy." 

All at once she felt a touch on her arm. An 
old woman who had evidently been waiting for 
her to come out put a five-dollar bill In her 
hand. "I am a poor woman, Miss Shaw," she 
said, "but I have all I need, and I want to make 
you a little present, for I know how hard life 
must be for you young students. I ? m the hap- 
piest woman In the world to-night, and I owe 
my happiness to you. You have converted my 
grandson, who Is all I have left, and he is go- 
ing to lead a different life." 

"This Is the biggest gift I have ever had," 


cried Miss Shaw. "This little bill is big 
enough to carry my future on its back ! ? 9 

This was indeed the turning point. Here 
was enough for food and shoes, but it was much 
more than that. It was a sign that she had 
her place in the great world. There was need 
of what she could do, and there could be no 
more doubt that Jier needs would be met. Even 
though she could not see the path ahead she 
would never lose heart again. 

The succeeding months brought not only the 
means to live but also the spirit to make the 
most of each day's living. "I graduated in a 
new black silk gown," she said, "with five dol- 
lars in my pocket ? which I kept there during 
the graduation exercises. I felt special satis- 
faction in the possession of that money, for, 
notwithstanding the handicap of being a 
woman, I was said to be the only member of 
my class who had worked during the entire 
course, graduated free from debt, and had a 
new outfit as well as a few dollars in cash. ' f 

Miss Shaw's influence as a preacher may be 
illustrated by a single anecdote. In the 
months following her graduation she went on a 



trip to Europe,, a friend having left her a 
bequest for that express purpose. "While In 
Genoa she was asked to preach to the sailors in 
a gospel-ship in the harbor; but -when she ap- 
peared it was evident that the missionary In 
charge had not understood that the minister lie 
had invited was a woman. He was unhappy 
and apologetic in his introduction, and the 
weather-beaten tars, in their turn, looked both 
resentful and mocking 9 . It was certainly a try- 
ing moment wlien Miss Sliaw began to speak. 
She had never in her life felt more forlorn or 
more homesick, when all at once the thought 
flashed through her that back of those un- 
friendly faces that confronted her there were 
lonely souls just as hungry for home as she 
was. Impulsively stepping down from the pul- 
pit so that she stood on a level with her hear- 
ers, she said : 

"My friends, 1 hope you will forget every- 
thing that Dr. Blank has just said. It Is true 
that I am a minister and that I came here to 
preach. But now I do not intend to preach 
only to have a friendly talk, on a text that Is 
npt in the Bible. I am very far from home 5 



and I feel as homesick as some of yon men look. 
So my text is, * Blessed are the homesick, for 
they shall go home. 5 5 ? 

Then out of the knowledge of sea-faring 
people which she had gained during summer 
vacations when she had " filled in ?? for the ab- 
sent pastor of a little church on Cape Cod, she 
talked In a way that went straight to the hearts 
of the rough men gathered there. When she 
saw that the unpleasant grin had vanished 
from the face of the hardest old pirate of them 
all ? she said: "When I came here I intended 
to preach a sermon on 'The Heavenly Vision. 9 
Now I want to give you a glimpse of that in 
addition to the vision we have had of home.'* 

After her return to America, Miss Shaw was 
called as pastor to a church at East Dennis, 
Cape Cod, and a few months later she was 
asked to hold services at another church about 
three miles distant. These two charges she 
held for seven happy years, rich in the oppor- 
tunity for real service. 

Feeling the need of knowing how to minister 
to the bodily needs of those she labored among, 
Miss Shaw took a course at the Boston Medical 


School, going to the city for a paxt of each 
week and graduating vrith the degree of M.D. 
in 1885- "When some one who knew about her 
untiring work as leader and helper of the peo- 
ple to whom she preached, asked her how it 
had been possible for her to endure so great 
a strain, she replied cheerfully, "Congenial 
work, no matter how much there is of it, has 
never yet killed any one." 

During the time of her medical studies when 
Miss Shaw was serving as volunteer doctor and 
nurse to the poor in the Boston slums, she be- 
came interested in the cause of woman suffrage 
"The Cause" it was to her always in the 
years that succeeded. A new day had come 
with new needs. She saw that everywhere 
there were changed conditions and grave prob- 
lems brought about by the entrance of women 
into the world of wage-earners; and she be- 
came convinced that only through an under- 
standing and sharing of the responsibilities of 
citizenship by both men and women could the 
best interests of each community be served. 
She, therefore, gave up her church work on 
Cape Cod to become a lecturer in a larger field 



For a while she devoted part of her time to the 
temperance crusade until that great leader of 
the woman's movement, Susan B. Anthony 
"Aunt Susan," as she was affectionately 
called persuaded her to give all her strength 
to the Cause. 

"Without an iron constitution and steady 
nerves, as well as an unfailing sense of humor/ 
she couIH never have met the hardships and 
strange chances that were her portion in the 
years that succeeded. In order to meet the 
appointments of her lecture tours she was con- 
stantly traveling, often under the most unto- 
ward circumstances now finding herself snow- 
bound in a small prairie town; now compelled 
to cross a swollen river on an uncertain trestle ; 
now stricken with an attack of ptomaine poi- 
soning while * ' on the road, ' 5 with no one within 
call except a switchman in Ms signal-tower. 

Perhaps more appalling than any or all of 
these tests was the occasion when she arrived 
in a town to find that the lecture committee had 
advertised her as "the lady who whistled be- 
fore Queen Victoria/' and announced that she 
would speak on "The Missing Link. ?? When 



she ventured to protest, the manager remarked 
amiably that they had "mixed her up with a 
Shaw lady that whistles." 

"But I don't know anything about the 'miss- 
ing link ? ! ?? continued Miss Shaw. 

"Well, you see we chose that subject because 
they have been talking about It In the Debating 
Society, and we knew It would arouse Interest, 5? 
she was assured. "Just bring In a reference 
to It every now and then,, and It ? 11 be all right," 

< * Open the meeting with a song so that I can 
think for a minute and then I ? 11 see what can 
be done," said Miss Shaw pluckily. As the ex- 
pectant audience, led by the chairman, sang with 
patriotic fervor "The Star Spangled Banner" 
and "America/ 5 the shipwrecked lecturer man- 
aged to seize a straw of Inspiration that turned 
In her grasp magically Into a veritable life- 
preserver. "It Is easy ? ' ? she said to herself. 
"Woman is the missing link In our government. 
I J ll give them a suffrage speech along that 

Miss Shaw has labored many years for the 
Cause. She worked with courage, dignity, and 
unfailing common sense and good humor, in the 



day of small tilings when the suffrage pioneers 

were ridiculed by both men and women as a 
band of unwomanly "freaks" and fanatics. 
She has lived to see the Cause steadily grow in 
following and influence, and State after State 
(particularly those of the growing, progressive 
West) call upon women to share equally with 
men many of the duties of citizenship and social 
service. She has seen that in such States there 
is no disposition to go back to the old order of 
things, and that open-minded people freely ad- 
mit that it is only a question of time until the 
more conservative parts of the country will fall 
into line and equal suffrage become nation wide. 

Her days have been rich in happy work ? 
large usefulness, and inspiring friendships. 
Many honors have been showered upon her 
both in her own country and abroad; but she 
has always looked upon the work which she has 
been privileged to do as making the best and 
the most honorable part of her life. 

Once, while attending a general conference 
of women, in Berlin, she won the interest and 
real friendship of a certain Italian princess, 
who invited her to visit at her castle in Italy 



and also to go with, her to her mother's castle 
in Austria. As Miss Shaw was firm in declin- 
ing these distinguished honors,, the princess 
begged an explanation. 

"Because, my dear princess/ 5 Miss Shaw ex- 
plained, "I am a working- woman." 

"Nobody need know that/' murmured the 
princess, calmly. 

"On the contrary, it is the first thing I 
should explain/' was the reply. 

"But why?" demanded the princess. 

"You are proud of your family, are yon 
not!" asked Miss Shaw. "Yon are proud of 
your great line!" 

"Assuredly," replied the princess. 

"Very well/ 7 continued Miss Shaw. "I am 
proud, too. What I have done I have done un- 
aided, and, to be frank with you, I rather ap- 
prove of it. My work is my patent of nobility, 
and I am not willing to associate with those 
from whom it would have to be concealed or 
with those who would look down upon it." 

Anna Howard Shaw's autobiography, which 
she calls "The Story of a Pioneer," is an ab- 
sorbingly interesting and inspiring narrative, 



It gives with, refreshing directness and whole- 
some appreciation the story of her struggles 
and her work, together with revealing glimpses 
of some of her comrades in the Cause ; it is at 
once her own story and the story of the pioneer 
days of the movement to which she gave her rich 
gifts of mind and character. In conclusion she 
quotes a speech of a certain small niece., who 
was overheard trying to rouse her still smaller 
sister to noble indifference in the face of the 
ridicule of their playmates, who had laughed 
when they had bravely announced that they 
were suffragettes. 

4 'Are n't you ashamed of yourself/ * she de- 
manded, u to stop just because you are laughed 
at once? Look at Aunt Anna! She has been 
laughed at for hundreds of years ! " 

"I sometimes feel/ 9 added the Champion of 
the Cause ? "that it has indeed been hundreds 
of years since my work began; and then again 
it seems so brief a time that, by listening for a 
moment, I fancy I can hear the echo of my child- 
ish voice preaching to the trees in the Michigan 
woods. But, long or short, the one sure thing 
is that, taking it all in all, the fight has been 



worth while. Nothing bigger can come to a 
human being than to love a great Cause more 
than life Itself, and to have the privilege 
throughout life of working for that Cause." 



"WTiere is the true man's fatherland? 

Is it where he by chance is bom? 

Doth not the yearning spirit scorn 
In such scant borders to be spanned! 
yes! Ms fatherland must be 
As the blue heaven wide and free! 



YOU know the story of "The Man without a 
Country" the man who lost Ms country 

through his own fault. Can you imagine what 
it would mean to be a child without a country 
to have no flag ? no heroes^ no true native land 
to which you belong as you belong to your 
family, and which in turn belongs to you f How 
would it seem to grow up without the feeling 
that you have a big country, a true fatherland 
to protect your home and your friends ; to build 
schools for you; to give you parks and play- 
groundsj and clean, beautiful streets; to fight 
disease and many dangers on land and water 
for you ? This is the story of a little girl who 
was born in a land where she had no chance for 
"life, liberty^ and the pursuit of happiness/' 
Far from being a true fatherland, her coun- 
try was like the cruel stepmother of the old 

It was strange that one could be born in a 


country and yet have no right to live there! 
Little Maryashe (or Mashke, as she was called^ 
because she was too tiny a girl for a big-sound- 
ing name) soon learned that the Eussia wliere 
she was born was not her own country. It 
seemed that the Bussians did not love her peo- 
ple ? or want them to live in their big land. 
And yet there they were! Truly it was a 
strange world. 

"Why is Father afraid of the police?" asked 
little Mashke. "He has done nothing wrong. 3 ' 

"My child, the trouble is that we can do 
nothing right!" cried her mother, wringing her 
hands. "Everything is wrong with us. "We 
have no rights^ nothing that we dare to call our 

It seemed that Mashke 9 s people had to live in 
a special part of the country called the "Pale 
of Settlement" It was against the law to go 
outside the Pale no matter how hard it was to 
make a living where many people of the same 
manner of life were herded together no mat- 
ter how much you longed to try your fortune in 
a new place. It was not a free land, this Po- 
lotzk where she had been born. It was a prison 



with Iron laws that shut people away from any 
cliance for happy living. 

It is hard to live in a cage, be it large or small. 
Like a wild bird, the free human spirit beats Its 
wings against any bars. 

"Why, Mother, why is It that we must not go 
outside the Pale?" asked Mashke. 

"Because the Czar and those others who have 
the power to make the laws do not love our peo- 
ple; they hate us and all our ways," was the 

"But why do they hate us. Mother?" per- 
sisted the child with big, earnest eyes. 

"Because we are different; because we can 
never think like them and be like them. Their 
big Eussia is not yet big enough to give people 
of another sort a chance to live and be happy 
in their own way." 

Even in crowded Polotzk, though, with polce 
spying on every side, there were happy days. 
There were the beautiful Friday afternoons 
when Mashke 's father and mother came home 
early from the store to put off every sign of the 
work-a-day world and make ready for the Sab- 
bath. The children were allowed to wear their 



holiday clothes and new shoes. They stepped 
about happily while their mother hid the great 
store keys and the money bag under her feather- 
bed, and the grandmother sealed the oven and 
cleared every trace of work from, the kitchen. 

How Mashke loved the time of candle prayer ! 
As she looked at the pure flame of her candle 
the light shone in her face and In her heart. 
Then she looked at the work-worn faces of her 
mother and grandmother. All the lines of care 
and trouble were smoothed away In the soft 
light. They had escaped from the prison of 
this unfriendly land with its hard laws and its 
hateful Pale. They were living in the dim but 
glorious Past ? when their father's fathers had 
been a free nation In a land of their own, 

But Mashke could not escape from the prison 
In that way. She was young and glad to be 
alive. Her candle shone for light and life to- 
day and to-morrow and to-morrow! There 
were no bars that could shut away her free 
spirit from the light 

How glad she was for life and sunlight on 
the peaceful Sabbath afternoons when, holding 
to her father's hand ? she walked beyond the 



city streets along the riverside to the place 
where In blossoming orchards birds sang of the 
joyful life of the air, and where in newly plowed 
fields peasants sang the song of planting-time 
and the fruitful earth. Her heart leaped as 
she felt herself a part of the life that flowed 
through all things river, air, earth, trees, 
birds, and happy, toiling people. 

It seemed to Mashke that most of her days 
were passed In wondering wondering about 
the strange world in which she found herself, 
and its strange ways. Of course sbe played as 
the children about her did, with her rag doll 
and her "jacks" made of the knuckle bones of 
sheep; and she learned to dance to the most 
spirited tune that could be coaxed from the 
teeth of a comb covered with a bit of paper. 
In winter she loved to climb in the bare sledge, 
which when not actively engaged in hauling 
wood could give a wonderful joy-ride to a party 
of happy youngsters^ who cared nothing that 
their sleigh boasted only straw and burlap in 
place of cushions and fur robes, and a knotted 
rope In place of reins with jingling bells. 

But always, winter and summer, In season 


and out of season, Mashke found herself won- 
dering about the meaning of all the things that 
she saw and heard. She wondered about her 
hens who gave her eggs and broth ? and feathers 
for her bed ? all in exchange for her careless 
largess of grain. Did they ever feel that the 
barnyard was a prison? She wondered about 
the treadmill horse who went round and round 
to pump water for the public baths. Did he 
know that he was cheated out of the true life of 
a horse work-time in cheerful partnership 
with man and play-time in the pasture with the 
fresh turf under his road-weary hoofs? Did 
the women, who tolled over the selfsame tasks 
in such a weary round that they looked forward 
to the change of wash-day at the river where 
they stood knee-deep in the- water to rub and 
scrub their poor rags, know that they, too, were 
in a treadmill? Sometimes she could not 
sleep for wondering, and would steal from her 
bed before daybreak to walk through the dewy 
grass of the yard and watch the blackness turn 
to soft, dreamy gray. Then the houses seemed 
like breathing creatures, and all the world was 
hushed and very sweet. "Was there ever such 



a wonder as the coining of a new day! As 
she watched it seemed that her spirit flew be- 
yond the town, beyond the river and the glow- 
ing sky itself touching, knowing, and loving 
ail tilings. Her spirit was free ! 

Sometimes it seemed that the wings of her 
spirit could all but carry her little body up and 
away. She was indeed such a wee mite that 
they sometimes called her Mouse and Crumb 
and Poppy Seed. All of her eager, flaming life 
was in her questioning eyes and her dark, way- 
ward curls. Because she was small and frail 
she was spared the hard work that early fell 
to the lot of her olcler ? stronger sister. So it 
happened that she had time for her wonderings 
time for her spirit to grow and try its wings. 

Mashke was still a very little child when she 
learned a very big truth. She discovered that 
there were many prisons besides those made by 
Russian laws; she saw that her people often 
shut themselves up in prisons of their own 
making. There were hundreds of laws and ob- 
servances ways to wash ? to eat, to dress, to 
work which seemed to many as sacred as their 
faith in God. Doubtless the rules which were 



now only empty forms had once had meaning, 
such as the law forbidding her people to touch 
fire on the Sabbath ? which came down from a 
time before matches or tinder-boxes when mak- 
ing a fire was hard work. But all good people 
observed the letter of the law, and, no matter 
what the need of mending a fire or a light, would 
wait for a Gentile helper to come to the rescue. 

One memorable evening, however, Mashke 
saw her father, when he thought himself unob- 
served, quietly steal over to the table and turn 
down a troublesome lamp. The gleam of a new 
light came to the mind of the watching, won- 
dering child at that moment. She began to un- 
derstand that even her father, who was the 
wisest man in Polotzk, did many things because 
he feared to offend the prejudices of their peo- 
ple, just as lie did many other things because of 
fear of the Eussian police. There was more 
than one kind of a prison. 

When Mashke was about ten years old a 
great change came to her life. Her father de- 
cided to go on a long journey to a place far 
from Polotzk and its rules of life, far from 
Eussia and its laws of persecution and death^ 



to a true Promised Land where all people, it was 
saidj no matter what their nation and belief, 
were free to live and be happy In their own 
way. The name of this Promised Land was 
America. Some friendly people the * * emigra- 
tion society/ ? her father called them made 
It possible for him to go try his fortune in the 
new country. Soon he wonld make a home 
there for them all. 

At last the wonderfnl letter caine a long let- 
ter, and yet it could not tell the half of his joy 
in the Promised Land. He had not found 
riches no ? he had been obliged to borrow the 
money for the third-class tickets he was send- 
ing them but he had found freedom. Best of 
all, Ms children might have the chance to go to 
school and learn the things that make a free 
life possible and worth while. 

Mashke found that they had suddenly become 
the most important people in Polotzk. All the 
neighbors gathered about to see the marvelous 
tickets that could take a family across the sea. 
Cousins who had not thought of them for 
months came with gifts and pleadings for let- 
ters from the new world. "Do not forget us 



when you are so happy and grand," they said. 
"Yon will see my boy, my Moshele," cried a 

poor mother again and again, "Ask him why 
he does not write to us these many months. If 
you do not find him in Boston maybe he will be 
in Balti-moreh. It is all America." 

The day came at last when every stool and 
feather-bed was sold ? and their clothes and all 
the poor treasures they could carry were 
wrapped in queer-looking bundles ready to be 
taken in their arms to the new home. All of 
Polotzk went to the station to wave gay hand- 
kerchiefs and bits of calico and wish them well. 
They soon f ound ? however, that the way of the 
emigrant is hard. In order to reach the sea 
they had to go through Germany to Hamburg? 
and a fearful journey it proved to be. It was 
soon evident that the Russians were not the only 
cruel people in the world; the Germans were 
]ust as cruel in strange and unusual ways, and 
in a strange language. 

They put the travelers in prison^ for which 
they had a queer name, of course " Quaran- 
tine," they called it. They drove them like 
cattle into a most unpleasant place ? where their 



clothes were snatched off, their bodies rubbed 
with, an evil, slippery substance, and their breath 
taken away by an unexpected shower that sud- 
denly descended on their helpless heads. 
Their precious bundles, too, were tossed about 
rudely and steamed and smoked. As the poor 
victims sat wrapped in clouds of steam waiting 
for the final agony, their clothes were brought 
back ? steaming like everything else, and some- 
body cried, u Quick! Quick! or yon will lose 
your train! 93 It seemed that they were not to 
be murdered after all, but that this was just the 
German way of treating people whom they 
thought capable of carrying diseases about with 

Then came the sixteen days on the big ship, 
when Hashke was too ill part of the time even 
to think about America. But there were better 
days, when the coining of morning found her 
near the rail gazing at the path of light that led 
across the shimmering waves into the heart of 
the golden sky. That way seemed like her own 
road ahead into the new life that awaited her. 

The golden path really began at a Boston 
public school. Here Mashke stood In her new 



American dress of stiff calico and gave a new 
American name to the friendly teacher of the 
primer class. Mary Antin site was called from 
that day ? all superfluous foreign letters being 
dropped off forever. As her father tried in Ms 
broken English to tell the teacher something of 
Ms hopes for his children? Mary knew by the 
look in his eyes that he ? too, had a vision of the 
path of light. The teacher also saw that glow- 
ing, consecrated look and in a flash of insight 
comprehended something of his starved past 
and the future for which he longed. In his ef- 
fort to make himself understood he talked with 
Ms hands, with his shoulders, with his eyes; 
beads of perspiration stood out on his earnest 
brow, and now he dropped back helplessly into 
Yiddish, now into Kussian. "I cannot now 
learn what the world knows ; I must work. But 
I bring my children they go to school for me. 
I am American citizen; I want my children be 
American citizens. 59 

The first tMng was, of course, to make a 
beginning with the new language. Afterward 
when Mary Antin was asked to describe the way 
the teacher had worked with her foreign class 



she replied with a smile, "I can't vouch for the 

method, but the six children in my own par- 
ticular group (ranging in age from six to fifteen 
I was then twelve) attacked the see-the-cat 
and look-at-the-hen pages of our primers with 
the keenest zest ? eager to find how the common 
world looked, sinelled ? and tasted in the strange 
speecli ? and we learned!" There was a dread- 
ful time over learning to say tlie without making 
a "buzzing sound; even mastering the v ? s and 
w*s was not so hard as that. It was indeed a 
proud day for llaiy Antin when she could say 
""We went to the village after water/ 7 to her 
teacher's satisfaction. 

How Mary Antin loved the American speech} 
She had a native gift for language, and gath- 
ered the phrases eagerly, lovingly, as one 
gathers flowers, ever reaching for more and 
still more. She said the words over and over 
to herself witti shining eyes as the miser counts 
Ms gold. Soon sue found that she was thinking 
in the beautiful English way. When she had 
been only four months at school she wrote a 
composition on Snow that her teacher had 
printed in a school journal to show this foreign 



cMlcPs wonderful progress in the use of the new 

tongue. Here Is a bit of that composition : 

Now tlie trees are bare, and no flowers are to see in the 
fields and gardens (we all know why), and the whole world 
seems like a-sleep without the happy bird songs which 
left us till spring. But the snow which drove away all 
these pretty and happy things, try (as I think) not to 
make us at all unhappy; they covered up the branches of 
the trees, the fields, the gardens and houses, and the whole 
world looks like dressed in a beautiful white instead of 
green dress^ with the sky looking down on it with a 
pale face, . . . 

At the middle of the year the child who had 
entered the primer class in September without 
a word of English was promoted to the fifth 
grade. She was indeed a proud girl when she 
went home with her big geography book making 
a broad foundation for all the rest of the pile, 
which she loved to carry back and forth just 
because it made her happy and proud to be 
seen in company with books. 

**Look at that pale? hollow-chested girl with 
that load of books," said a kindly passer-by one 
day. "It is a shame the way children are over- 
worked in school these days." 

The child in question,, however, would have 
had no basis for understanding the chance sym- 



patliy had she overheard the words. Her books 

were her dearest joy. They were Indeed In a 
very real sense her only tangible possessions. 
All else was as yet "the stuff that dreams 
are made of." As she walked through the 
dingy, sordid streets her glorified eyes looked 
past the glimpses of unlovely life about her into 
a "beautiful world of her own. If she felt any 
weight from the books she earned it was just 
a comfortable reminder that this new Mary An- 
tin and the new life of glorious opportunity 
were real 

When she climbed the two flights of stairs 
to her wretched tenement her soul was not soiled 
by the dirt and squalor through which she 
passed. As she eagerly reac\ not only her 
school history but also every book she could find 
in the public library about the heroes of Amer- 
ica, she did not see the moldy paper hanging in 
shreds from the walls or the grimy bricks of 
the neighboring factory that shut out the sun- 
light. Her look was for the things beyond the 
moment the tilings that really mattered. How 
could the child feel poor and deprived when she 
knew that the city of Boston was hers ! 



As she walked every afternoon past the fine ? 
dignified buildings and churches that flanked 
Copley Square to the imposing granite struc- 
ture that held all her hero books, she walked as 
a princess into her palace. Could she not read 
for herself the inscription at the entrances 
Public Library Built by the People Free to 
All ? Now she stood and looked about her 
and said, "This is real This all belongs to 
these wide-awake children, these fine women ? 
these learned men and to me." 

Every nook of the library that was open to 
the public became familiar to her; her eyes 
studied lovingly every painting and bit of mo- 
saic. She spent hours pondering the vivid pic- 
tures by Abbey that tell in color the mystic story 
of Sir Galahad and the quest of the Holy Grail, 
and it seemed as if the spirit of all romance 
was hers. She lingered in the gallery before 
Sargent's pictures of the "Prophets/ 9 and it 
seemed as if the spirit of all the beautiful Sab- 
baths of her childhood stirred within her, as 
echoes of the Hebrew psalms awoke in her 

"When she went into the vast reading-room 

Mary Antia 


she always chose a place at the end where, look- 
ing up from her books, she could get the effect 
of the whole vista of splendid arches and earnest 
readers. It was in the courtyard ? however ? that 
she felt the keenest joy. Here the child born 
in the prison of the Pale realized to the full the 
glorious freedom that was hers. 

' ' The courtyard was my sky-roofed chamber 
of dreams/ 5 she said. " Slowly strolling past 
the endless pillars of the colonnade, the foun- 
tain murmured in my ear of all the beautiful 
things in all the beautiful world. Here I liked 
to remind myself of Polotzk, the better to bring 
out the wonder of my life. That I who was 
brought up to my teens almost without a book 
should be set down in the midst of all the books 
that ever were written was a miracle as great 
as any on record. That an outcast should be- 
come a privileged citizen, that a beggar should 
dwell in a palace this was a romance more 
thrilling than poet ever sung. Surely I was 
rocked in an enchanted cradle. * ? 

As Mary Antin's afternoons were made glori- 
ous by these visits to the public library, so her 
nights were lightened by rare half -tours on the 



South Boston Bridge wliere it crosses the Old 
Colony Railroad As she looked down at the 
maze of tracks and the winking red and green 
signal lights, her soul leaped at the thought of 
the complex world In which she lived and the 
wonderful way In which it was ordered and con- 
trolled by the mind of man. Years afterward 
in telling about her dreams on the bridge she 
said : 

"Then the blackness below me was split by 
the fiery eye of a monster engine, his breath 
enveloped me In blinding clouds, his long body 
shot by, rattling a hundred claws of steel, and 
he was gone. So would I be, swift on my right- 
ful business, picking out my proper track from 
the million that cross it, pausing for no ob- 
stacles, sure of my goal." 

Can you imagine how the child from Polotzk 
loved the land that had taken her to itself? As 
she stood up in school with the other children 
and saluted the Stars and Stripes, the words 
she said seemed to come from the depths of her 
soul: "I pledge allegiance to my flag and to 
the Eepublic for which It stands one nation 
indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." 



Those were not words, they were heart throbs. 
The red of the flag was not just a "bright color ? 
It was the courage of heroes ; the white was the 
symbol of truth clear as the sunlight ; the blue 
was the symbol of the wide, free heavens her 
spirit's fatherland. The child who had been 
born in prison, who had repeated at every Pass- 
over, "Next year, may we be in Jerusalem," 
had found all at once her true country, her flag, 
and her heroes. When the children rose to sing 
" America, n she sang with all the pent-up feel- 
ing of starved years of exile : 

I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills. 

As the teacher looked into the glorified face 
of this little alien-citizen she said to herself^ 
"There is the truest patriot of them all!" 

Only once as they were singing "Land where 
my fathers died," the child's voice had faltered 
and died away. Her cheek paled when at the 
close of school she came to her teacher with her 

"Oh, teacher," she mourned, "our country's 
song can't to mean me my fathers didn't die 



The friendly teaclier ? whose understanding 
and sympathy were never failing, understood 


"Mary Antin/ 9 she said earnestly, looking 
through the child ? s great ? dark eyes into the 
depths of her troubled soul, "yon have as much 
right to those words as I or anybody else in 
America. The Pilgrim Fathers didn't all 
come here before the Ee volution. Isn't your 
father just like them? Think of it, dear^ how 
he left his home and came to a strange land 
where he couldn't even speak the language. 
And didn't he come looking for the same 
things! He wanted freedom for himself and 
his family, and a chance for his children to 
grow up wise and brave. It y s the same story 
over again. Every ship that brings people 
from Eussia and other countries where they are 
ill-treated is a Mayflower 1" 

These words took root in Mary Antin's heart 
and grew with her growth. The consciousness 
that she was in very truth an American glori- 
fied her days; it meant freedom from every 
prison. Seven years after her first appearance 
in the Boston primer class she entered Barnard 



College. After two years there and two more 
at Teachers College., she entered the school of 
life as a hoinemaker; her name Is now Mary 
Antin Grabau. Besides caring for her home 
and her little daughter, she has devoted her 
gifts as a writer and a lecturer to the service of 
her country. 

In her book, "The Promised Land ? ?? she has 
told the story of her life from the earliest mem- 
ories of her childhood in Russia to the time 
when she entered college. It is an absorbing 
human story, but it is much more than that. 
It is the story of one who looks upon her Amer- 
ican citizenship as a great "spiritual adven- 
ture/ ? and who strives to quicken in others a 
sense of their opportunities and responsibilities 
as heirs of the new freedom. She pleads for a 
generous treatment of all those whom oppres- 
sion and privation send to make their homes in 
our land. It is only by being faithful to the 
ideal, of human brotherhood expressed in the 
Declaration of Independence that our nation 
can realize its true destiny, she warns us* 

Mary Antin was recently urged to write a 
history of the United States for children, that 



would give the inner meaning of the facts as 
well as a clear account of the really significant 

"I have long had such a work In mind/ ? she wrote ? "and 
I suppose I shall have to do it some day. In the mean- 
time I talk history to my children my little daughter of 
eight and the Russian cousin who goes to school in the 
kitchen. Only yesterday at luncheon I told them about 
our system of representative government, and our pota- 
toes grew cold on our plates, we were all so absorbed." 

In all that Mary Antin writes and in all that 
she says her faith in her country and her zeal 
for its honor shine out above all else. To the 
new pilgrims who lived and suffered in other 
lands before they sought refuge in America, as 
well as to those who can say quite literally, 
"Land where rny fathers died," she brings this 
message : 

"We must strive to be worthy of our great 
heritage as American citizens so that we may 
use wisely and well its wonderful privileges. 
To be alive in America is to ride on the central 
current of the river of modem life ; and to have 
a conscious purpose is to hold the rudder that 
steers the ship of fate." 



Ho! All ye heavens, ail ye of the earth, 

I bid ye hear me! 

Into your midst has come a new life; 
Consent ye ! Consent ye all, I implore ! 
Make its path smooth, then shall it travel 
beyond the four hills* 

Omaha Tribal Eite. 
Translated by Alice C. Fletehei 


AGEEAT poet once tried to look into the 
future and picture the kind of people 
who might some day live upon the earth peo- 
ple wiser and happier than we are because they 
shall have learned through our mistakes and 
carried to success our beginnings, and so have 
come to understand fully many things that we 
see dimly as through a mist. These people 
Tennyson calls the "crowning race": 

Of those that eye to eye shall look 
On knowledge; under whose command 
Is Earth and Earth's, and in their hand 
Is Nature like an open book. 

You see he believed that the way to gain 
command of Earth is through learning to read 
the open book of Nature. That book is closed 
to most of us to-day ? but we are just beginning 
to spell out something of its message ? and as 
WQ begin to understand we feel that it is not a 



strange speech but our own true mother tongue, 
which ears, deafened by the noise of the busy 
world, have almost ceased to hear and under- 
stand. There comes a time, however, when we 
feel "the call of the wild." We long to get 
away from the hoarse cries of engines, and the 
grinding roar of turning wheels, to a quiet that 
is unbroken even by a passing motor horn. 

Have you ever found yourself for a happy 
half-hour alone among the great trees of the 
friendly woods? You must have felt that in 
getting near to Nature you were finding your- 
self. Did not the life of the trees, of the winged 
creatures of the branches, of the cool mossy 
ground itself, seem a part of your life? 

Have you ever climbed a Mil when it seemed 
that the wind was blowing something of its own 
strength and freshness into your soul? Did 
you not feel as if you were mounting higher and 
higher into the air and lifting the sky with you? 
Have you ever found yourself at evening in a 
great clear open place where the tent of the 
starry heavens over your head seemed nearer 
than the shadowy earth and all the things of the 



This Is the story of a girl who loved to listen 
to the deep chant of the ocean, to the whisper 
of the wind in the trees ? and to the silence in 
the heart of the Mils. She came to feel that 
there was a joy and a power In the open in the 
big, f ree ? unspoiled haunts of furtive beasts and 
darting birds that all the man-made wonders 
of the world could not give. 

"If I am so much happier and more alive/ 5 
she said to herself , "in the days that I spend 
under the open sky ? what must it be like always 
to live this freer life? Did not the people who 
lived as Nature's own children in these very 
woods that I come to as the guest of an hour 
or a summer, have a wisdom and a strength 
that our life to-day cannot win? 9 * 

Again and again the thought came knocking 
at her heart : i The men whom we call savages? 
whom we have crowded out of the land they 
once roamed over freely, must have learned 
very much in all the hundreds of years that 
they lived close to Nature. They could teach 
us a great deal that cannot be found in books. 5 * 

Alice 0. Fletcher grew up in a cultured New 
England home. She had the freedom of a gen- 



erons library and early learned to feel that 
great books and wise men were familiar friends, ' 
They talked to her kindly and never frightened 
her by their big words and learned looks. She 
looked through the veil of words to the living 

She was, too, very fond of music. Playing 
the piano was more than practising an elegant 
accomplishment just as reading her books was 
more than learning lessons. As the books 
stirred her mind to thinking and wondering, so 
the music stirred her heart to feeling and 

It often seemed, however, that much that her 
books and music struggled in vain to bring to 
her within walls was quite clear when she found 
herself in the large freedom of Nature's house. 
The sunshine, the blue sky, and the good, whole- 
some smell of the brown earth seemed to give a 
taste of the 

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 

Once in her reading she came upon the story 
of the scholar who left Oxford and the paths 
of learning to follow the ways of the wandering 



gypsies In order that lie might learn the natural 
wisdom they had won. "Ah," she said to her- 
self , "some day when I am free to live my life 
in my own way I shall leave my books and go 
out among the Indians, Our country should 
know what its first children saw and thought and 
felt. I shall try to see with their eyes and 
hear with their ears for a while and I shall 
discover, in that way, perhaps, a new world 
one that will be lost forever when the Bed Men 
are made to adopt all the tricks and manners 
of civilized life." 

The time came when she found herself free 
to realize this dream. 

"You don y t mean to say you are really going 
to live with the Indians?" her friends ex- 

"How else can I know them?" she replied 

"But to give up every necessary comfort!" 

"There is something perhaps better than just 
making sure that we are always quite comforta- 
ble," said Miss Fletcher. "Of course, I shall 
miss easy chairs and cozy chats, and all the 
lectures, concerts, latest books, and daily papers, 



but 1 ? m glad to find out that all these nice 
things are not really so necessary that they can 
keep me from doing a bit of work that is really 
worth while, and which,, perhaps, needs just 
what I can bring to it." 

At this time Miss Fletcher's earnest, thought- 
ful studies of what books and museums could 
teach about the early history of America and 
the interesting time before history, had given 
her a recognized place among the foremost 
scholars of archeology the science that reads 
the story of the forgotten past through the 
relics that time has spared. 

"Many people can be found to study the 
things about the Indians which can be collected 
and put in museums/ 1 said Miss Fletcher, "but 
there is need of a patient, sympathetic study 
of the people themselves." 

In order to make this study, she spent not 
only months but years among the Dakota and 
Omaha Indians. From a wigwam made of buf- 
falo skins she watched the play of the children 
and the life of the people and listened to their 
songs and stories. 

"The Indian Is not the stern, unbending 


wooden Indian that sliows neither interest nor 
feeling of any sort, as many pe-ople have come 
to think of Mm," said Miss Fletcher. "Those 
who picture Mm so have never really known 
him. They have only seen the side he turns 
toward strangers. In the home and among 
their friends the Indians show fun, happy give- 
and-take, and warm, alert interest in the life 
about them." 

The cultivated New England woman and dis- 
tinguished scholar won their confidence because 
of her sincerity, tact, and warm human sym- 
pathy. She not only learned their speech and 
manners but also the language of their hearts. 
Her love of Nature helped her to a ready under- 
standing of these children of Nature or "Wa- 
konda as they called the spirit of life that 
breathes through earth and sky, rocks, streams, 
plants, all living creatures, and the tribes of 
men. The beautiful ceremony by which, soon 
after his birth, each Omaha child was presented 
to the powers of Nature showed this sense of 
kinship between the people and their world. 
A priest of the tribe stood outside the wigwam 
to which the new life had been sent, and with 



right hand outstretched to the heavens ehanted 
these words in a loud voice : 

Ho, ye Sun, Moon, Stars, all ye that move In the heavens, 

I bid ye hear me! 
Into your midst has come a new life; 

Consent ye, I implore! 
Make its path smooth, that it may reach 

The hrow of the first hill. 

Next the forces of the air winds, clouds, 
mist, and rain were called upon to receive the 
young child and smooth the path to the second 
hill. Then hills, valleys, rivers, lakes, trees, 
and all growing things were invoked, after 
which the spirits of birds, animals, and all mov- 
ing creatures were summoned to make the path 
smooth to the third and fourth hills. As the 
priest intoned the noble appeal to all the powers 
of the earth and air and bending heavens, even 
those who could not understand the words 
would know that the four hills meant childhood, 
youth, manhood, and age, and that a new life 
was being presented to the forces of the uni- 
verse of which it was a part. So it was that 
each child was thought of as belonging to 
Wakonda to the spirit of all life before he 
belonged to the tribe. For it was not until he 



was four or five years old that lie gave iip Ms 
"baby name/' such as Bright Eyes, Little Bird, 
or Baby Squirrel, and was given a real name 
and received into the life of the people. 

Miss Fletcher soon became Interested in the 
music of the Indians. Her trained ear told her 
that" here was something new. The haunting 
bits of melody and strange turns of rhythm 
were quite different from any old-world tunes. 

* ' At first it was very hard to hear them, ' ? said 
Miss Fletcher. "The Indians never sang to be 
heard by others. Their singing was a spon- 
taneous expression of their feeling for the 
most part, religious feeling. In their religious 
ceremonies the noise of the dancing and of the 
drums and rattles often made it very hard to 
really catch the sound of the voice. 99 

Day after day she strove to hear and write 
down bits of the music, but it was almost lite 
trying to imprison the sound of the wind in the 

"Do you remember," said Miss Fletcher, 
"how the old Saxon poet tried to explain the 
mystery of life by saying it was like a bird fly- 
ing through the windows of a lighted hall out 



of the darkness to darkness again? An Indian 
melody Is like that. It lias no preparations, no 
beginning. It flashes upon you and Is gone ? 
leaving only a teasing memory behind. ?? 

While this lover of music was vainly trying 
to catch these strangely beautiful strains of 
melody, the unaccustomed hardships of her life 
brought upon her a long illness. There was 
compensation however, for when she could no 
longer go after the thing she sought it came 
to her. Her Indian friends who had found out 
that she was Interested In their songs gathered 
about her couch to sing them for her. 

"So my illness was after all like many of 
our so-called trials, a blessing In disguise," 
said Miss Fletcher. "I was left with this 
lameness^ but I had the music. The sigh had 
become a song!" 

You have ? perhaps, heard of the great in- 
terest that many learned people have in the 
songs and stories of simple folk the folk- 
songs and folk-tales of different lands. Did 
you know that Sir Walter Scott's first work in 
literature was the gathering of the simple bal- 
lads of the Scottish peasants which they had 



long repeated just as you repeat the words of 
"ring games ?? learned from other children f 

Did yon know that most of the fairy stories 
and hero tales that you love were told by peo- 
ple who had never held a book in their hands^ 
and were repeated ages and ages ago before 
the time of books? Just as it is true that 
broad, flowing rivers have their source in 
streams that well up out of the ground, so it is 
true that the literature of every nation has its 
source in the fancies that have welled up out 
of the hearts and imaginations of the simple 
people. The same thing is true of music. 
Great composers like Brahms and Liszt took 
the wild airs of the Hungarian gypsies and 
made them into splendid compositions that all 
the world applauds. Chopin has done this with 
the songs of the simple Polish folk. Dvorak, 
the great Bohemian composer, has made Ms 
"New World Symphony ?? of negro melodies, 
and Cadman and others are using the native 
Indian music in the same way. 

Just as the Grimm brothers went about 
among the German peasants to learn their in- 
teresting stories, just as Sir George Dasent 



worked to get the tales of the Norse, so Alice 
Cunningham Fletcher worked to preserve the 
songs and stories of the Indians. Others have 
coine after her and have gone on with the work 
she began, following the trail she blazed. All 
musicians agree that this native song with its 
fascinating and original rhythms may prove 
the source of inspiration for American compos- 
ers of genius and give rise to our truest new- 
world music. 

Much of Miss Fletcher's work is preserved in 
great learned volumes, such as "The Omaha 
Tribe," published by the National Government, 
for she wrote as a scientist for those who will 
carry on the torch of science into the future. 
But realizing that the music would mean much 
to many who cannot enter upon the problems 
with which the wise men concern themselves, 
she has presented many of the songs in a little 
book called "Indian Story and Song." We 
find there, for instance, the "Song of the 
Laugh" sung when the brave young warrior 
recounts the story of the way he has slain his 
enemy with Ms own club and so helped to fill 
with fear the foes of his tribe. 



We find, too, the story of the youth who 

begins his life as a man by a lonely vigil when 
by fasting he proves his powers of endur- 

The Omaha tribal prayer is the solemn mel- 
ody that sounded through the forests of Amer- 
ica long before the white man came to this coun- 
try a cry of the yearning human spirit to 
Wakonda, the spirit of all life. 

Try to picture Miss Fletcher surrounded by 
her Indian friends, explaining to them carefully 
all about the strange machine before which she 
wants them to sing. For the graphophone was 
a field worker with her for a time her chief 
assistant in catching the elusive Indian songs. 
Perhaps there could have been no greater proof 
of their entire confidence in her than their will- 
ingness to sing for her again and again, and 
even to give into the keeping of her queer little 
black cylinders the strains that voiced their 
deepest and most sacred feelings. For Indian 
music is, for the most part, an expression of 
the bond between the human spirit and the un- 
seen powers of Nature. It must have been that 
they felt from the first that here was some one 



who understood them because she, too, loved 
the Nature they knew and loved. 

While Miss Fletcher was thus happily at 
work she "became aware, however, that there 
was keen distress among these friends to whom 
she had become warmly attached. Some of 
their neighbors? the Ponca Indians? had been 
removed from their lands to the dreaded "hot 
country n Indian Territory and the Omaha 
people feared that the same thing might hap- 
pen to them, for it was very easy for unprinci- 
pled white men to take advantage of the 
Indians who held their lands as a tribe, not as 

Always on the frontier of settlement there 
were bold adventurers who coveted any prom- 
ising tracts of land that the Indians possessed. 
They said to themselves, "We could use this 
country to much better advantage than these 
savages, therefore it should be ours. ?? They 
then would encroach more and more on the 
holdings of the Indians, defying them by every 
act which said plainly, "A Eedskin has no 
rights ! M Sometimes when endurance could go 
no further the Indians would rise up in active 



revolt. Then what more easy than to cry out, 
"An Indian uprising! There will be a massa- 
cre ! Send troops to protect us from the mad 
fury of the savages ! ?? The Government would 
then send a detachment of cavalry to quell the 
outbreak, after which it would seem wiser to 
move the Indians a little farther away from 
contact with the white men, who now had just 
what they had been working toward from the 
first the possession of the good land. 

Miss Fletcher realized that the only remedy 
for this condition was for each Indian to secure 
from the Government a legal title to a portion 
of the tribal grant which he might hold as an 
individual She left her happy work with the 
music and w T ent to Washington to explain to 
the President and to Congress the situation as 
she knew it. The cause was, at this time, 
greatly furthered by the appearance of a book 
by Helen Hunt Jackson, called "A Century of 
Dishonor, n an eloquent presentation of the In- 
dians ? wrongs and a burning plea for justice. 

There was need, however, of some practical 
worker, who knew the Indians and Indian af- 
fairs intimately, to point to a solution of the 



problem,, The conscience of the people was 
aroused, but they did not know how it was pos- 
sible to prevent in the future the same sort of 
wrongs that had made the past hundred years 
indeed "a century of dishonor. 35 Then the 
resolute figure of Miss Alice Fletcher appeared 
on the scene. She was well known to the gov- 
ernment authorities for her valuable scientific 
work. Here was some one they knew ? who 
really could explain the exact state of affairs 
and who could also interpret fairly the mind of 
the Indian. She could be depended on as one 
who would not be swayed by mere sentimental 
considerations. She would know the practical 
course to pursue. 

"Let the Indians hold their land as the white 
men hold theirs/' she said. "That is the only 
way to protect them from wrong and to protect 
the Government from being a helpless partner 
to the injustice that is done them.' 7 

Now, it is one thing to influence people who 
are informed and interested and quite another 
to awaken the interest of those who are vitally 
concerned with totally different things. Miss 
Fletcher realized that if anything was to be 


Alice G. Fletcher 


actually accomplislied she must leave no stone 
unturned to bring the matter to the attention 
of those who had not heretofore given a 
thought to the Indian question and the respon- 
sibility of the Government. She presented a 
petition to Congress and worked early and late 
to drive home to the people the urgent need of 
legislation in "behalf of the Indians. She spoke 
in clubs, in churches, in private houses, and 
before committees in Congress, And actually 
the busy congressmen who always feel that 
there is not half time enough to consider meas- 
ures by which their own States and districts 
will profit, gave right of way to the Indian 
Land Act, and in 1882 it became a law. 

There was the need of the services of some 
disinterested person to manage the difficult 
matter of dividing the tribal tracts and allot- 
ting to each Indian his own acres, and Miss 
Fletcher was asked by the President to under- 
take this work. 

"Why do you trust Miss Fletcher above any 
one else?" asked President Cleveland on one 
occasion when he was receiving a delegation of 
Omahas at the White House. 



"We have seen her in our homes; we have 
seen her in her home. We find her always the 
same ? ?? was the reply. 

The work which Miss Fletcher did in allot- 
ting the land to the Omahas was so successfully 
handled that she was appealed to by the Gov- 
ernment to serve in the same capacity for the 
Winnebago and Nez Perce Indians. The law 
whose passage was secnred by her zeal was the 
forerunner of the Severalty Act of 1885 which 
marked a change in policy of the Government 
and ushered in a better era for all the Indian 

"What led yon to undertake this important 
work?' 5 Miss Fletcher was asked. 

"The most natural desire in the world the 
impulse to help my friends where I saw the 
need," she replied. "I did not set out resolved 
to have a career to form and to reform. 
There is no story in my life. It has always 
been just one step at a time one thing which 
I have tried to do as well as I could and which 
has led on to something else. It has all been 
in the day's work. ?? 

Miss Fletcher has been much interested in 


the work of the Boy and Girl Scouts and In the 
Campfire Societies? because she feels that in 
this way many children are brought to an ap- 
preciation of the great out-of-doors and win 
health^ power 5 and joy which the life of cities 
cannot give. For them she has made a collec- 
tion of Indian games and dances. 

"Just as the spirit of Sir Walter Scott 
guides us through the Scottish lake country 
and as Dickens leads us about old London, so 
the spirit of the Indians should make us more 
at home in the forests of America/' said Miss 
Fletcher. "In sharing the happy fancies of 
these first children of America we may win a 
new freedom in our possession of the play- 
ground of the great out-of-doors." 



1 am ready to go anywhere, provided it be forward. 


God can't give His best till we have given ours ! 



AMONG all the weavers in the great factory 
at Dundee there was no girl more deft and 
skilful than Mary Slessor. She was only eleven 
when she had to help shoulder the cares of the 
household and share with the frail mother the 
task of earning bread for the hnngry children. 
For the little family was worse than fatherless. 
The man who had once been a thrifty, self-re- 
specting shoemaker had become a slave to drink; 
and his life was a burden to himself and to 
those who were nearest and dearest to him. 

"Dinna cry ? mither dear/ ? Mary had said. 
"I can go to the mills in the morning and to 
school in the afternoon. It will be a glad day, 
earning and learning at the same time V ? 

So Mary became a "half -timer" in the mills. 
At six o ? clock every morning she was at work 
among the big whirling wheels. Even the walls 
and windows seemed to turn sometimes as the 



hot wind came in her face from the whizzing 
belts, and the roar of the giant wheels filled all 
her day with din and clamor* 

But as Mary worked week after week, she 
learned more than the trick of handling the 
shuttle at the moving loom. She learned how 
to send her thoughts far away from the noisy 
factory to a still place of breeze-stirred trees 
and golden sunshine. Sometimes a book, which 
she had placed on the loom to peep in at free 
moments, helped her to slip away in fancy from 
the grinding toil What magic one could find in 
the wonderful world of books! The wheels 
whirled off into nothingness, the walls melted 
away like mist, and her spirit was free to wan- 
der through all the many ways of the wide 
world. And so it was that she went from the 
hours of work and earning to the hours of study 
and learning with a blithe, morning face, her 
brave soul shining through bright eager eyes. 

"When we ? re all dragged out, and feel like 
grumbling at everything and nothing seems of 
any use at all, Mary Slessor is still up and com- 
ing, as happy as a cricket/ 5 said one of the girls 
who worked by her side. * ' She makes you take 



heart In spite of yourself, and think It *s some- 
thing to be glad over just to be living and work- 


"It ? s wonderful the way your hand can go 
on with the shuttle and do the turn even better 
than you could if you stopped to take thought/ 9 
Mary would explain. "That leaves your mind 
free to go another way. Now this morning I 
was not in the weaving shed at all; I was far 
away in Africa,, seeing all the strange sights the 
missionary from Calabar told us about last 
night at meeting. " 

Heaven was very near to Mary Slessor, and 
the stars seemed more real than the street 
lamps of the town. She had come to feel that 
the troubles and trials of her days were just 
steps on the path that she would travel. Al- 
ways she looked past the rough road to the end 
of the journey where there was welcome in the 
Father's house for all His tired children. 
There was 5 moreover^ one bit of real romance 
in that gray Scotch world of hers. The thrill 
of beauty and mystery and splendid heroism 
was in the stories that the missionaries told of 
Africa, the land of tropical wonders pathless 



forests, winding rivers under bending trees^ 
"bright birds ? and brighter flowers and people^ 
hundreds of black people^ with black lives be- 
cause the light of truth had never shone In their 
world. She knew that white people who called 
themselves Christians had gone there to carry 
them away for slaves ; and to get their palm-oil 
and rubber and give them rum in exchange 
rum that was making them worse than the wild 
beasts of the jungle,, How Mary Slessor longed 
to be one to carry the good news of a God of 
Love to those people who lived and died in dark- 
ness! " Somebody must help those who can't 
help themselves!" she said to herself. 

"The fields are ripe for the harvest but the 
laborers are few," one of the missionaries had 
said. "We fear the fever and other Ills that 
hide In the bush more than we fear to fall in 
God's service. Men have gone to these people 
to make money from the products of their land ; 
they have bought and sold the gifts of their 
trees; they have bought and sold the people 
themselves ; they are selling- them death to-day 
In the strong drink they send there. Is there 
no one who Is willing to go to take life to these 



Ignorant children who have suffered so many 
wrongs ? ?? 

These words sank deep into Mary Slessor^s 
heart. But It was plain that her mission was 
to the little home in Dundee. She was working 
now among the turning wheels all day from six 
until six, and going to school in the evening; 
but she found time to share with others the se- 
cret of the joy that she had found, the light that 
had made the days of toil "bright. The boys 
that came to her class In the mission school 
were " toughs 9 * from the slums of the town, 
but she put many of them on the road to use- 
ful, happy living. Her brave spirit won them 
from their fierce lawlessness ; her patience and 
understanding helped to bring out and fortify 
the best that was in them. 

Once a much-dreaded "gang" tried to break 
up the mission with a battery of mud and jeers. 
When Mary Slessor faced them quietly, the 
leader, boldly confronting her, swung a leaden 
weight which hung suspended from a cord, 
about her head threateningly. It came nearer 
and nearer until it grazed her temple, but the 
mission teacher never flinched. Her eyes still 



looked into those of the boy ? s bright, un- 
troubled, and searching. His own dropped, 
and the missile fell forgotten to the ground. 

* ' She ? s game, boys P ? he cried, surprised out 
of himself. 

And the unruly mob filed into the mission to 
hear what the "game" lady had to say. Mary 
Slessor had never heard of the poet, Horace; 
but she had put to the proof the truth of the 
well-known lines, which declare that "the man 
whose life is blameless and free from evil has 
no need of Moorish javelins, nor bow, nor 
quiver full of poisoned arrows, ? ? 

As in her work with the wild boys of the 
streets, so in her visits to the hopeless people 
of the dark tenements, Mary Slessor was a pow- 
erful influence because she entered their world 
as one of them, with a faith in the better self of 
each that called into new life his all-but-extin- 
guished longing for better things. 

"As she sat by the fire holding the baby and 
talking cheerily about her days at the mills 
and the Sabbath morning at chapel, it seemed 
as if I were a girl again, happy and hopeful and 
ready to meet whatever the morrow might 



bring," said a discouraged mother to whom 
Mary had been a friend in need. 

"It is like hearing the kirk-hells on a Sunday 
morning at the old home ? hearing your voice ? 
Mary Slessor/ 9 said a poor Wind woman to 
whom Mary had brought the light of restored 

For fourteen years this happy Scotch girl 
worked in the factory for ten hours each day ? 
and shared her evenings and Sundays with her 
neighbors of the mission. Besides, she seized 
moments by the way for study and reading. 
Her mind was hungry to understand the mean- 
ing of life and the truths of religion. One day, 
in order to find out the sort of mental food she 
craved^ a friend lent her Carlyle's " Sartor Re- 

"How are you and Carlyle getting on to- 
gether?" he asked quizzically when they nest 

"It is grand V 9 she replied with earnest en- 
thusiasm* "I sat up reading it, and was so 
interested that I did not know what the time 
was unta I heard the factory bells calling me 
to work in the morning." 



Thus her mind was growing and expanding, 
while her spirit grew through faithful work 
and loyal service. Her simple, direct speech 
had an eloquent appeal that went straight to 
the heart. In spite of an unconquerable timid- 
ity that made her shrink from platform ap- 
pearances, her informal addresses had wide 
influence. Once she rose in her place at a pub- 
lic meeting and gave a quiet talk on the words : 
The common people heard Mm gladly. 6 * And, ? ' 
it was said, "the common people heard her 
gladly, and crowded around, pleading with her 
to come again. ?? 

In 1874, when every one was stirred by the 
death of David Livingstone, Mary Slessor's 
life was transfigured by a great resolve. The 
years had brought changes. Her father was 
dead, and her sisters were old enough to share 
the burden of supporting the family. 

"The time has come for me to join the band 
of light-bearers to the Dark Continent," said 
Mary, with a conviction that overcame every 
obstacle. "It is my duty to go where the labor- 
ers are few. Besides, there must be a way to 
work there and send help to mother at home." 



She knew that the missionaries were given a 
stipend to support them in the manner of the 
country from which they came. "I shall as 
far as possible live on the food of the country/ * 
she said. "It may be that by sharing to a 
greater extent the conditions of life of the peo- 
ple, I can come to a fuller understanding of 
them and they of me. Besides^ it will not be 
so hard to leave home if I can feel that I am 
still earning something for mother. 99 

So Mary Slessor went, after a few months of 
special preparation to teach the natives of Cal- 
abar. She was at this time twenty-eight years 
old. Ever since she was a mere slip of a girl, 
she had longed to serve in that most discour- 
aging of fields "the slums of Africa/ 5 it 
was called. The people who inhabited that 
swainpy ? equatorial region were the most 
wretched and degraded of all the negro tribes. 
They had for ages been the victims of stronger 
neighbors,, who drove them back from the drier 
and more desirable territory that lay farther 
inland; and of their own ignorance and super- 
stitions, which were at the root of their blood- 
thirsty ? savage customs. 



It was In September, 1876 ? that the vessel 
Ethiopia sailed out of the clean? blue Atlantic 
Into the mud-colored Calabar Elver. At its 
prow stood Mary Slessor, gazing soberly at the 
vast mangrove swamps and wondering about 
the unknown, unexplored land beyond, where 
she should pitch her tent and begin her work. 
Though white men had for centuries come to 
the coast to trade for gold dust, ivory, palm oil, 
spices, and slaves, they had never ventured in- 
land, and the natives who lived near the shore 
had sought to keep the lion's share of the profit 
by preventing the remoter tribes from coming 
with their goods to barter directly with the men 
of the big ships. So only a few miles from the 
mouth of the Calabar Eiver was a land where 
white people had never gone, whose inhabitants 
had never seen a white face. It was to this 
place of unknown dangers that Mary Slessor 
was bound. 

For a time she remained at the mission set- 
tlement to learn the language, while teaching 
in the day school. As soon as she gained suf- 
ficient ease in the use of the native speech, she 
began to journey through the bush, as the trop- 



leal jungles of palms, bananas, ferns, and thick 
grass were called. Her heart sang as she went 
along, now wading through a spongy morass 
bright with orchids, now jumping over a 
stream or the twisted roots of a giant tree. 
After the chill grayness of her Scottish country, 
this land seemed at first a veritable paradise of 
golden warmth, alluring sounds and scents, and 
vivid color. Now she paused in delight as a 
brilliant bird flashed through the branches 
overhead; now she went on with buoyant step, 
drinking in the tropical fragrance with every 
breath. Surely so fair a land could not be so 
deadly as it was said. She must keep well for 
the task that lay before her. She could not 
doubt that each day would bring strength for 
the day's work. 

"With two or three of the boys from the Cal- 
abar school as guides, she made the journey to 
some of the out-districts. Here a white face 
was a thing of wonder or terror. The children 
ran away shrieking with fear; the women 
pressed about her, chattering and feeling her 
clothing and her face, to see if she were real 
At first she was startled, but she soon divined 



that this was just the beginning of friendly ac- 

Miss Slessor soon showed an astonishing 
mastery of the language, and an even more 
amazing comprehension of the minds of the 
people. She realized that the natives were not 
devoid of ideas and belief s, but that, on the con. 
trary ? certain crude conceptions, strongly 
rooted through the custom and tradition of 
ages, accounted for many of their horrible 
practices. They put all twin babies to death 
because they believed that one of them was a 
demon-child whose presence in a tribe would 
bring untold harm on the people. They tor- 
tured and murdered helpless fellow creatures, 
not wantonly, but because they believed that 
their victims had been bewitching a suffering 
chief for disease was a mysterious blight, 
caused by the "evil eye ?? of a malicious enemy, 
"When a chief died many people were slaught- 
ered, for of course he would want slaves and 
companions in the world of spirits. 

It was wonderful the way Mary Slessor was 
able to move about among the rude, half -naked 



savages as confidently as she had among her 
people in Scotland? looking past the dirt and 
ugliness to the human heart beneath^ tortured 
by fear or grief, and say a word that brought 
hope and comfort. She feared neither the 
crouching beasts of the jungle nor the treach- 
erous tribes of the scattered mud villages* 
Picking her way over the uncertain bush trails, 
she carried medicine^ tended the sick, and spoke 
words of sympathy and cheer to the distressed. 
Sometimes she stayed away over several nights, 
when her lodging was a mud hut and her bed 
a heap of unpleasant rags. 

The people soon learned that her interest 
went beyond teaching and preaching and giving 
aid to the sick. She cared enough for their 
welfare to lead them by night past the sentries 
of the jealous coast tribes to the factory near 
the beach, where they could dispose of their 
palm oil and kernels to their own profit. She 
won in this way the good will of the traders 
who said: 

"There is a missionary of the right sort! 
She will accomplish something because she is 



taking hold of all the problems that concern 
her people, and is working systematically to im- 
prove all the conditions of their lives. " 

One day she set forth on a trip of thirty miles 
along the river to visit the village of a chief 
named Okon ? who had sent begging her to come, 
A state canoe, which was lent by King Eyo of 
Calabar, had been gaily painted in her honor, 
and a canopy of matting to shield her from the 
sun and dew had been thoughtfully erected over 
a conch of rice bags. Hours passed in the ten- 
der formalities of farewell, and when the pad- 
dlers actually got the canoe out into the stream 
it was quite dark. The red gleam of their 
torches fell upon venomous snakes and alliga- 
tors, but there was no fear while her compan- 
ions beat the " tom-tom 9? and sang, as they 
plied their paddles ? loud songs in her praise, 
such as : 

"Ma, our beautiful, beloved mother is on board! 

Ho! Ho! HoP 

Such unwonted clamor no doubt struck terror 
to all the creatures with claws and fangs along 
the banks. 



After ten hours ? paddling, she arrived at 
Okon ? s village* A human skull stuck on a pole 
was the first sight that greeted her. Crowds 
gathered about to stare and touch her hand to 
make sure that she was flesh and Wood. At 
meal times a favored few who were permitted 
to watch her eat and drink ran about, excitedly 
reporting every detail to their friends. 

For days she went around giving medicines, 
bandaging, cutting out garments, and teaching 
the women the mysteries of sewing, washing, 
and ironing. In the evenings all the people 
gathered about her quietly while she told them 
about the God she served a God of love, whose 
ways were peace and lovingkindness. At the 
end they filed by, wishing her good night with 
much feeling before they disappeared into the 
blackness of the night. 

These new friends would not permit her to 
walk about in the bush as she had been used to 
doing. There were elephants in the neighbor- 
ing jungle, they said. The huge beasts had 
trampled down all their growing things, so that 
they had to depend mainly on fishing. One 
morning, on hearing that a boa constrictor had 



been seen, bands of men armed with clubs and 
mnskets set off, yelling fearsomely, to hunt the 
common enemy. But more terrible to Mary 
Slessor than any beast of prey were the skulls, 
horrible images, and offerings to ravenous 
spirits, that she saw on every side* How was 
it possible to teach the law of love to a people 
who had never known anything but the tyranny 
of fear? 

"I must learn something of the patience of 
the Creator of all," she said to herself again 
and again. "For how long has He borne with 
the sins and weakness of His poor human chil- 
dren, always caring for us and believing that 
we can grow into something better in spite of 

After two weeks in "Elephant Country," 
Miss Slessor made ready to return to the mis- 
sion. Bowers, canoe, and baggage were in 
readiness, and a smoking pot of yams and herbs 
cooked in. palm oil was put on board for the 
evening meal Scarcely had they partaken, 
however, when Mary saw that the setting sun 
was surrounded by angry clouds, and her ear 



caught the ominous sound of the wind wailing 
in the tree-tops. 

a We are coming into a stormy night/ ? she 
said fearfully to Okon, who was courteously 
escorting the party back to Old Town. 

The chief lifted Ms black face to the black 
sky and scanned the clouds solemnly. Then he 
hastily steered for a point of land that lay 
sheltered from the wind. Before they could 
reach the lee side ? however, the thunder broke, 
and the wild sweep of the wind seized the 
canoe and whirled it about like a paper toy. 
Crew and chief alike were helpless from terror 
when Mary took her own fear in hand and or- 
dered the rowers to make for the tangle of 
trees that bordered the bank. The men pulled 
together with renewed hope and strength until 
the shelter of the bush was reached. Then 
springing like monkeys into the overhanging 
branches, they held on to the canoe which was 
being dashed up and down like a straw. The 
" White Mother/* who was sitting in water to 
her knees and shaking with ague, calmed the 
fears of the panic-stricken children who had 



burled their faces in her lap, and looked about 
in awed wonder at the weird beauty of the 
scene. The vivid flashes of lightning shattered 
the darkness with each peal of thunder, reveal- 
ing luxuriant tropical vegetation rising above 
the lashed water, foaming and hissing under the 
slanting downpour of the rain, and the tossing 
canoe with the crouching, gleaming-wet figures 
of the frightened crew. 

This was but one of many thrilling adven- 
tures that filled the days of the brave young 
missionary. When the appeal came, no mat- 
ter what the time of midday heat or midnight 
blackness, she was ready to journey for hours 
through the bush to bring succor and comfort. 

Once the news came that the chief of a vil- 
lage had been seized by a mysterious Illness. 
Knowing that this would mean torture, and 
death, perhaps, to those suspected of having en- 
viously afflicted him by the "evil eye, ?? she set 
off along the trail through the dense forest to 
use all her influence to save the unfortunate 

"But, Ma," the people would protest, "you 
don't understand. If you god-people not pun- 


Courtesy of George ff. Doretn Company 

Mary Slessor 


ish evil, bad ones say ? * God-ways no good!' 
Bad ones go round cast spells with, no fear. 
No one safe at all. 5? 
Of all their superstitions f ears ? the horror of 

twin babies was the most universal With 
great difficulty Miss Slessor managed to save a 
few of these unfortunate infants. At first 
some of the people refused to come into the 
hut where a twin child was kept ; but when they 
saw that no plague attacked the place or the 
rash white * ' Ma ? J ? they looked upon her with in- 
creased respect The " White Mother ?? must 
have a power much greater than that of the 

The witch-doctors knew a great deal ? no 
doubt. When a man had a tormented back they 
could tell what enemy had put a spell on him. 

"Oh, yes ? Ma ? the witch-doctor lie knows/ 9 
declared a chief who was suffering with an ab- 
scess, " just see all those elaws ? teeth, and bones 
over there. He took them all out of my back." 

But if "Ma" did not understand about such 
spells, she had a wonderful magic of her own; 
she knew soothing things to put on the be- 
witched back that could drive the pain away 



and make It well. The influence of the healer 

was often stronger than the influence of the 
witch-doctor and the superstitious fears of all 
the tribe. Again and again her will prevailed 
in the palaver^ and the chief to please her 
would spare the lives of those who should by 
every custom of the land be put to death, 

"Ma" required strange things of them, but 
she was the best friend they had ever had. 
"When she stood up before them and spoke so 
movingly it seemed as if she would talk the 
heart right out of the sternest savage of them 
all ! She made them forget the things that they 
had known all their lives. "Who would have 
believed that they would even dream of allow- 
ing a chief ? s son to go unattended into the 
spirit- world? Yet when she begged them to 
spare the lives of the slaves who should have 
been sent with him ? they had at last consented. 
And it did n ? t take a witch-doctor to tell one that 
a twin-child should never be allowed to live and 
work its demon spells in the world- Still they 
allowed her to save some of them alive. It was 
said that prudent people had even gone into the 
room where the rescued twins were kept and 



had touched them without fear. They had been 
almost persuaded that those queerly born babies 
were just like other children! 

The "White Mother" of Calabar always had 
a family of little black waifs that she had res- 
cued from violent death or neglect. Besides 
the unfortunate twins, there were the children 
whose slave mothers had died when they were 
tiny infants. " Nobody has time to bring up a 
child that will belong to somebody else as soon 
as it is good for something/ 9 it was said. So 
the motherless children were left in the bush 
to die. 

Mary Slessor loved her strange black brood 
tenderly. "Baby things are always gentle and 
lovable," she used to say. "These children 
who have had right training from the beginning 
will grow up to be leaders and teachers of their 

For twelve years Miss Slessor worked in con- 
nection with the established mission at Calabar, 
journeying about to outlying villages as the 
call came. It had for long been her dream, 
however, to go still farther inland to the wild 
Okolong tribe whose very name was a terror 



throughout the land Her mother and her sis- 
ter Janie, who together made "home" for her, 
had died. 

"There is no one to write and tell all my 
stories and troubles and nonsense to," she said. 
"But Heaven is now nearer to me than Britain, 
and nobody will be anxious about me if I go up 

In King Eyo ? s royal canoe she made the jour- 
ney to the strange people. Leaving the pad- 
dlers, who were mortal enemies to the Okoyong 
tribe, at the water ? s edge, she made her way 
along the jungle trail to a village four miles 
inland. Here the people crowded about her 
greatly excited. They called her "Mother," 
and seemed pleased that she had come to them 
without fear. The chief, Edem, and his sister, 
Ma Eame, received her in a friendly fashion. 
Her courage, frankness, and ready understand- 
ing won favor from the beginning. 

"May I have ground for a schoolhouse and 
a home with you here f ? * she asked. * ' Will yon 
have me stay as your friend and help you as I 
have helped the people of Calabar ?" 

Eagerly they assented. It would be a fine 


thing to have a " White Mother" in their coun- 

"Will you grant that the house I build shall 
be a place of refuge for those in distress for 
those charged with witchcraft or threatened 
with death for any other cause? Will you 
promise that they shall be safe with me until 
we can consider together their case? ?? 

The people looked at the strange white wo- 
man wonderingly. Why should she ask this 
thing? What difference could it make to her? 

"All life is precious/ ? she said simply, as if 
she had read their thoughts. "I am here to 
help you to care for those who are sick or 
hurt 9 and I must be allowed to see that each 
one who is in any sort of trouble is treated 
fairly. Will you promise that my house shall 
be a place of refuge? 5 * 

Again they gravely assented. So ? greatly 
encouraged, she returned to Calabar to pack 
her goods and prepare to leave the old field for 
the new. 

All her friends gathered about her, loudly 
lamenting. She was surely going to her death* 
they said. Her fellow workers regarded her 



with, wonder and pity, "Nothing can make 
any Impression on the Okoyong save a consul 
and a British gunboat/ ? they declared. But 
Mary Slessor was undaunted. She stowed her 
boxes and her little family of five small waifs 
away in the canoe as happily as if she were 
starting out on a pleasure trip. To a friend in 
Scotland, she wrote : 

I am going to a new tribe up-country, a fierce, cruel peo* 
pie, and every one tells me that they will kill me. But I 
don't fear any hurt only to combat their savage customs 
will require courage and firmness on my part. 

The life in Okoyong did indeed require 
fortitude and faith. Eemote from friends and 
helpers, in the midst of that most dreaded of all 
the African tribes, she patiently worked to 
lighten the darkness of the degraded people and 
make their lives happier and better. "With her 
rare gift of Intuition she at once felt that Ma 
Eame, the chief's sister, had a warm heart and 
a strong character. 

"She will be my chief ally/* she said to her- 
self, and time proved that she was right. A 
spark in the black woman's soul was quickened 
by the White Mother 's flaming zeal Dimly 



she felt the power of the new law of love. Of- 
ten at the risk of her life, should she be dis- 
covered ? she kept the missionary informed in re- 
gard to the movements of the people, "Whether 
it was a case of witchcraft or murder ? of 
vengeance or a raid on a neighboring tribe^ 
"Ma" was sure to find it out; and her influence 
was frequently strong enough to avert a tragedy. 

As at Calabar, she found that the greatest ob- 
stacle in the way of progress was the general 
indulgence in rum ? which the white people gave 
the natives in exchange for their palm oil, 
spices ? rubber,, and other products. 

"Do not drink the vile stuff do not take it 
or sell it," she begged. "It is like poison to 
your body. It burns out your life and heart 
and brings every trouble upon you," 

"What for white man bring them rum sup- 
pose them rum no be good!" they demanded. 
"He be god-man bring the mm then what for 
god-man talk sol" 

What was there to say! With a heavy heart 
the White Mother struggled on to help her peo- 
ple in spite of this great evil which men of the 
Christian world had brought upon these weak, 



Ignorant Hack children. And she did make 
headway in spite of every discouragement. "I 
had a lump in my throat often, and my courage 
repeatedly threatened to take wings and fly 
away though nobody guessed it," she said. 

For years this brave woman went on with her 
work among the wild tribes of Nigeria. As 
soon as she began to get the encouragement of 
results in one place she pressed on to an un- 
worked field. Eealizing that her pioneer work 
needed to be reenf orced and sustained by the 
strong arm of the law, she persuaded the Brit- 
ish Government to "take up the white man 9 s 
bur den ?? and (through the influence of consuls 
and the persuasive presence of a gunboat or 
two) assume the guardianship of her weak 
children. In spite of failing health and the 
discouragement of small results, she went from 
one post to another, leaving mission houses and 
chapel-huts as outward signs of the new life 
to which she had been a witness. "I am ready 
to go anywhere, provided it be forward, ?? was 
her watchword, as well as Dr. Livingstone's. 

There are many striking points of likeness 
between the careers of these two torch-bearers 



to the Dark Continent. As children both had 
worked at the loom,, studying hungrily as they 
toiled. Both did pioneer work, winning the 
confidence and love of the wild people they 
taught and served. No missionary to Africa, 
save Dr. Livingstone alone, has had a more 
powerful influence than Mary Slessor. 

When at last in January, 1915, after thirty- 
nine years of service, she died and left to oth- 
ers the task of bearing on the torch to her peo- 
ple. Sir Frederick Lugard, the Governor-Gen- 
eral of Nigeria said : 

"By her enthusiasm, self-sacrifice, and great- 
ness of character she has earned the devotion 
of thousands of natives among whom she 
worked, and the love and esteem of all Euro- 
peans, irrespective of class or creed, with whom 
she came in contact. ?J 

She was buried in the land to which she had 
given her long life of service. At the grave 
when the women, after the native fashion, be- 
gan their wild wail of lament, one of them lifted 
up her voice in an exalted appeal that went 
straight to the heart: 

"Do not cry, do not cry! Praise God from 


whom all blessings flow. Ma was a great bless- 

Of all the words of glowing tribute to her 
faithful work, we may be sure that none would 
have meant more to the lowly missionary than 
this cry from the awakened soul of one of her 
people of the bush. 



One truth discovered is immortal and entitles its author 
to be so ; for, like a new substance in nature, it cannot be 




YOU would hardly think that a big, bare 
room, with rows of battered benches and 
shelves and tables littered with all sorts of 
queer-looking jars and bottles, could be a hiding- 
place for fairies. Yet Marie's father, who was 
one of the wise men of Warsaw, said they were 
always to be found there. 

"Yes, little daughter," he said, "the fairies 
you may chance to meet with in the woods, 
peeping from behind trees and sleeping in 
flowers, are a tricksy, uncertain sort. The real 
fairies, who do things, are to be found in my 
dusty laboratory. They are the true wonder- 
workers, and there you may really catch them 
at work and learn some of their secrets. 5? 

"But, Father, wouldn't the fairies like it 
better if it was n't quite so dusty there I" asked 
the child. 

"No doubt of it," replied the professor* 


"We need one fairy more to put us to 

At a time when most little girls are playing 
with dolls, Marie was playing ^ fairy ?? In the 
big classroom^ dusting the tables and shelves, 
and washing the glass tubes and other things 
that her father used as he talked to Ms stu- 
dents. "I think we might see the fairies better 
If I make all these glasses clear and shiny/ ? 
said Marie* 

a Can I trust your little fingers not to let 
things fall?" asked her father. "Bemember, 
my funny glasses are precious. It might cost 
us a dinner if you should let one slip." 

The professor soon found that his little 
daughter never let anything slip either the 
things he used or the things he said. "Such a 
wise little fairy and such a busy one! 5? h,e 
would say. "I don ? t know how we could do our 
work without her. 95 

If Professor Ladislaus Sklodowski had not 
loved Ms laboratory teaching above all else, he 
would have known that he was overworked. 
As it was, he counted himself fortunate in be- 
ing able to serve Truth and to enlist others in 



her service. For the professor's zeal was of 
the kind that Mndles enthusiasm. If yon had 

seen the faces of those Polish students as they 
hung on Ms words and watched breathlessly the 
result of an experiment^ yon wonld have known 
that they, too, believed in the wonder-working 

It seems as if the Polish people have a greater 
love and understanding of the unseen powers of 
the world than is given to many other nations. 
If you read the story of Poland's tragic strug- 
gles against foes within and without until,, 
finally, the stronger surrounding countries 
(jermany, Austria ? and Russia divided her 
territory as spoil among themselves and she 
ceased to exist as a distinct nation, you will un- 
derstand why her children have sought refuge 
in the things of the spirit. They have in a 
wonderful degree the courage that rises above 
the most unfriendly circumstances and says ; 

One day -with life and heart 

Is more than time enough to find a world. 

Some of them, like Chopin and PaderewsM, 

have found a new world in music; others have 



found It in poetry and romance ; and still others 
in science. The child who dreamed of fairies 
in her father's classroom was to discover the 
greatest marvel of modern science a discovery 
that opened up a new world to the masters of 
physics and chemistry of our day. 

Marie's mother^ who had herself been a 
teacher, died when the child was very small; 
and so it happened that the busy father had to 
take sole care of her and make the laboratory 
do duty as nursery and playroom. It was not 
strange that the bright,, thoughtful little girl 
learned to love the things that were so dear to 
her father's heart. Would he not rather buy 
things for his work than have meat for dinner? 
Did he not wear the same shabby kaftan (the 
full Eussian top-coat that looks like a dressing- 
gown) year after year in order that he might 
have material for important experiments? 
Truth was, indeed, more than meat and the 
love of learning more than raiment in that 
home, and the little daughter drank in his en- 
thusiasm with the queer laboratory smells 
which were her native air and the breath of 
life to her. 



The time came when the child had to leave 
this nursery to enter school,, but always, when 
the day ? s session was over, she went directly to 
that other school where she listened fascinated 
to all her father taught about the wonders of 
the inner world of atoms and the mysterious 
forces that make the visible world in which we 
live. She still believed in fairies, oh, yes! 
but now she knew their names. There were 
the rainbow fairies light-waves, that make all 
the colors we see, and many more our eyes 
are not able to discover, but which we can cap- 
ture by interesting experiments. There were 
sound-waves, too, and the marvelous forces we 
call electricity, magnetism, and gravitation. 
When she was nine years old, it was second na- 
ture to care for her father's batteries, beakers, 
and retorts, and to help prepare the apparatus 
that was to be used in the demonstrations of the 
coming day. The students marveled at the 
child's skill and knowledge, and called her with 
admiring affection "professorowna," (daugh- 

There was a world besides the wonderland 
of the laboratory, of which Marie was soon 



aware* This was the world of fear, where the 
powers of Bussia ruled. In 1861 the Poles had 
made a vain attempt to win their independence, 
and when Marie was a little girl (she was born 
in 1867), the authorities tried to stamp out any 
further sparks of possible rebellion by adopt- 
ing unusually harsh measures. It was a crime 
to speak the Polish language in the schools and 
to talk of the old, happy days when Poland was 
a nation. If any one was even suspected of 
looking forward to a better time when the peo- 
ple would not be persecuted by the police or 
forced to bribe unprincipled officials for a 
chance to conduct their business without inter- 
ference, he was carried off to the cruel, yellow- 
walled prison near the citadel, and perhaps sent 
to a life of exile in Siberia, Since knowledge 
means independent thought and capacity for 
leadership, the high schools and universities 
were particularly under suspicion. Tears aft- 
erward, when Marie spoke of this reign of ter- 
ror, her eyes flashed and her lips were set in a 
thin white line. Time did not make the mem- 
ory less vivid. 

"Every corridor of my father's school had 


finger-posts pointing to Siberia ! ? ? she declared 

When Marie was sixteen^ she graduated 
from the " gymnasium ?? for girls^ receiving a 
gold medal for excellence in mathematics and 
sciences. In Bussia ? as in Germany, the gym- 
nasium corresponds to our high school^ but also 
covers some of the work of the first two years 
of college. The name gymnasinm signifies a 
place where the mind is exercised and made 
strong in preparation for the work of the uni- 

The position as governess to the daughters 
of a Eussian nobleman was offered to the bril- 
liant girl with the sweet, serious eyes and gen- 
tle voice* As it meant independence and a 
chance to travel and learn the ways of the 
world? Marie agreed to undertake the work. 

Now, for the first time in her life, the young 
Polish girl knew work that was not a labor of 
love. Her pupils cared nothing for the things 
that meant everything to her. How they loved 
luxury and show and gay chatter! How indif- 
ferent they were to truth that would make the 
world wiser and happier. 



strangely you look ? Mademoiselle 
Marie/ 5 said the little Countess Olga one day ? 
in the midst of her French, lesson, " Your eyes 
seem to see things far away." 

Marie was truly looking past her pupils, past 
the rich apartment, beyond Russia? into the 
great world of opportunity for all earnest 
workers. She had overheard something about 
another plot among the students of "Warsaw, 
and knew that some of her father ? s pupils had 
been put under arrest. 

Suppose they should try to make me testify 
against my friends/ 9 said the girl to herself. 
"I must leave Eussia at once. My savings 
will surely take me to Paris, and there I may 
get a place as helper in one of the big labora- 
tories, where I can learn as I work.' 9 

The eyes that had been dark with fear an in- 
stant before became bright with hope. Eagerly 
she planned a disguise and a way to slip off the 
very next night while the household was in the 
midst of the excitement of a masquerade ball. 

Everything went well, and in due time she 
found her trembling self and her slender pos- 
sessions safely stowed away on a train that 



was moving rapidly toward the frontier and 
freedom. No one gave a second thought to the 
little elderly woman with gray hair and specta- 
cles who sat staring out of the window of her 
compartment at the fields and trees rushing 
by in the darkness and the starry heavens that 
the train seemed to carry with it. Her plain, 
black dress and veil seemed those of a self- 
respecting, upper-class servant, who was per- 
haps going to the bedside of a dying son. 

"I feel almost as old as I look/ 7 Marie was 
saying to herself. "But how can a girl who is 
all alone in the world, with no one to know what 
happens to her, help feeling old! Down in my 
heart, though, I know that life is just beginning. 
There is something waiting for me beyond the 
blackness something that needs just little 

It was a wonderful relief when the solitary 
journey was over and the elderly disguise laid 
aside. ' * Shall I ever feel really young again ? ? ? 
said the girl, who was not quite twenty-four. 
But not for a moment did she doubt that there 
was work waiting for her in the big, unexplored 



During those early days In Paris, Marie of- 
ten had reason to be grateful for the plain liv- 
ing of her childhood that had made her Inde- 
pendent of creature comforts. Now she knew 
actual want In her cold garret, furnished only 
with a cot and chair, like a hermit ? s cell. She 
lived, too, on hermit's fare black bread and 
milk* But even when it was so cold that 
the milk was frozen, cold comfort, indeed! 
the fire of her enthusiasm knew no chill. Day 
after day she walked from laboratory to labora- 
tory begging to be given a chance as assistant, 
but always with the same result. It was man's 
work; why did she not look for a place in a mil- 
liner's shop? 

One day she renewed her appeal to Professor 
LIppman in the Sorbonne research laborato- 
ries. Something in the still, pale face and deep- 
set, earnest eyes caught the attention of the 
busy man. Perhaps this strange, determined 
girl was starving! And besides, the crucibles 
and test-tubes were truly In sad need of atten- 
tion. Grudgingly he bade her clean the vari- 
ous accessories and care for the furnace. Her 
deftness and skill in handling the materials, 



and a practical suggestion that proved of value 
In an Important experiment, attracted the fa- 
vorable notice of the professor. He realized 
that the slight girl with the foreign look and 
accent, whom he had taken in out of an impulse 
of pity, was likely to become one of his most 
valuable helpers, 

A new day dawned for the ambitious young 
woman. While supporting herself by her lab- 
oratory work, she completed in two years the 
university course for a degree in mathematics, 
and, two years later, she won a second degree 
in physics and chemistry* In the meantime her 
enthusiasm for science and her undaunted 
courage In the face of difficulties and discour- 
agements attracted the admiration of a fellow- 
worker, Pierre Curie, one of the most promis- 
ing of the younger professors. 

"I love you, and we both love the same 
things, n he said one day. " "Would it not 
be happier to live and work together than 
alone ? ?? 

And so began that wonderful partnership of 
two great scientists, whose hard work and he- 
roic struggle, crowned at last by brilliant suo- 



cess, lias been an inspiration to earnest work- 
ers the world over. 

Madame Curie set up a little laboratory in 
their apartment ? and tolled over her experi- 
ments at all hours. Her baby daughter was 
often bathed and dressed in this workroom 
among the test-tubes and the interesting fumes 
of advanced research. 

" Irene is as happy in the atmosphere of sci- 
ence as her mother was, ?? said Madame Curie 
to one of her husband's brother-professors who 
seemed surprised to find a crowing infant in a 
laboratory. "And if I could afford the best 
possible nurse, she could not take my place! 
For my baby and I know the joy of living and 
growing together with those we love." 

What was the problem that the mother was 
working over even while she sewed for her lit- 
tle girl, or rocked her to sleep to the gentle 
crooning of an old Polish folk-song whose mel- 
ody Chopin has wrought into one of his tender- 
est nocturnes? 

The child who used to delight in experiments 
with light-waves in her father's laboratory, was 
interested in the strange glow which Prof. 


Marie Skloclowska Curie 


Becqnerel had fonnd that the substance known 
as uranium gave off spontaneously. , Like the 
X-rays, this light passes through wood and 
other bodies opaque to sunlight. Madame 
Curie became deeply interested in the problem 
of the nature of the Becquerel rays and their 
wonderful properties, such as that of making 
the air a conductor for electricity. One day 
she discovered that pitchblende, the black min- 
eral from which uranium is extracted, was 
more radioactive (that is, it gave off more pow- 
erful rays) than the isolated substance itself, 
and she came to the conclusion that there was 
some other element in the ore which, could it 

be extracted, would prove more valuable than 



With infinite patience and the skill of highly 
trained specialists in both physics and chem- 
istry, Madame Curie and her husband worked 
to obtain this unknown substance. At times 
Pierre Curie all but lost heart at the seemingly 
insurmountable obstacles in the way. "It can- 
not be done!" he exclaimed one day, with a 
groan. ' * Truly, ' Nature has buried Truth deep 
in the bottom of the sea. 7 " 



"But man can dive f cJier ami/ ? said Ms wife, 
with a heartening smile, "Think of the joy 

when one comes up at last with the pearl the 
pearl of truth!' 9 

At last their toil was rewarded, and two new 
elements were separated from pitchblende po- 
lonium, so named by Madame Curie in honor of 
her native Poland, and radium, the most marvel- 
ous of all radioactive substances, A tiny pinch 
of radium, which is a grayish white powder not 
unlike coarse salt in appearance, gives out a 
strange glow something like that of fireflies, but 
bright enough to read by. Moreover, light and 
heat are radiated by this magic element with no 
apparent waste of its own amount or energy. 
Radium can also make some other substances, 
luamonds for instance, shine with a light like its 
own, and it makes the air a conductor of elec- 
tricity. Its weird glow passes through bone al- 
most as readily as through tissue-paper or 
through flesh, and it even penetrates an inch- 
thick iron plate. 

The Curies now woke to find not only Paris 
but the world ringing with the fame of their dis- 
covery. The modest workers wanted nothing, 



however, but the chance to go on with their re- 
search. Yon know how Tennyson makes the 
aged Ulysses look forward even at the end of his 
life to one more last voyage. The type of the 
unconquerable human sonl that ever presses on 
to fresh achievement, he says : 

All experience Is an arch wbere-t3xro ? 

Grleams that untraveFd world, whose margin fades 

Forever and forever when I move. 

So it was with Pierre Curie and his wife. Their 
famous accomplishment opened a new world of 
interesting possibilities? a world which they 
longed above all tilings to explore. 

Their one trouble was the difficulty of pro- 
curing enough of the precious element they had 
discovered to go on with their experiments. 
Because radium Is not only rare, but also ex- 
ceedingly hard to extract from the ore ? it is a 
hundred times more precious than pure gold. 
It is said that five tons of pitchblende were 
treated before a trifling pinch of the magic pow- 
der was secured. It would take over two thou- 
sand tons of the mineral to produce a pound of 
radium. Moreover, It was not easy to secure 



the ore, as practically all the known mines were 
in Austria, and those in control wanted to profit 
as mnch as possible by this chance. 

"It does seem as if people might not stand ia 
the way of our obtaining the necessary ma- 
terial to go on with our work/ 9 lamented Pierre 
Curie. "What we discover belongs to the world 
to any one who can use it. 5? 

"We have passed other lions in the way. 
This, too, we shall pass/' said Madame Curie,, 

They lived in a tiny house in an obscure sub- 
urb of Paris, giving all that they possessed 
the modest income gained from teaching and 
lecturing, their- share of the Nobel prize of 
$40,000, which, in 1903, was divided between 
them and Professor Becquerel, together with all 
their time and all their skill and knowledge, to 
their work. 

For recreation they went for walks in the 
country with little Irene, often stopping for din- 
ner at quaint inns among the trees* On one 
such evening, when Dr. Curie had just declined 
the decoration of the Legion of Honor, because 
it had "no bearing on his work/ 5 his small 



daughter climbed on his knee and slipped a red 
geranium into Ms buttonhole, saying, with com- 
ical solemnity: a You are now decorated with 
the Legion of Honor. Pray, Monsieur, what do 
you intend to do about it?" 

"I like this emblem much better than a glit- 
tering star on a bit of red ribbon, and I love the 
hand that put it there/ 9 replied the father, his 
face lighting up with one of his rare smiles. 
"In this case I make no objection. ?? 

Other honors, which meant increased oppor- 
tunity for work, were quietly accepted. Pierre 
Curie was elected to the French Academy the 
greatest honor Ms country can bestow on her 
men of genius and achievement, Madame Curie 
received the degree of Dqctpr of Physical Sci- 
ence, and a distinction shared with no other 
woman the position of special lecturer at the 
Sorbonne, in Paris. 

One day in 1906, when Dr. Curie, his mind in- 
tent on an absorbing problem, was absent-mind- 
edly hurrying across a wet street, he slipped 
and fell under a passing truck and was in- 
stantly killed. When they attempted to break 
the news to Madame Curie by telling her that 



her husband had been hurt in an accident^ she 
looked past them with a white, set face,, and re- 
peated over and over to herself, as if trying to 
get her bearings in the new existence that 
stretched blackly before her ? "Pierre is dead; 
Pierre is dead." 

Now ? as on that night when she was leaving 
Bussia for an unknown world ? she saw a gleam 
in the blackness there was work to be done! 
There was something waiting in the shadowy 
future for her ? something that she alone could 
do. As on that other night ? she found her lips 
shaping the words: "The big world has need 
of little me. But oh, it will be hard now to 
work alone ! ?? Then her eyes fell on her two 
little girls (Irene was now eight years old and 
baby Eve was three), who were standing quietly 
near with big ? wondering eyes fixed on their 
mother ? s strange face. 

"Forgive me ? darlings V 9 she cried 5 gathering 
her children into her arms. ' " "We must try hard 
to go on with the work Father loved. Together 
is a magic word for us still, little daughters ! " 

Everybody wondered at the courage and quiet 
power with which Madame Curie went out to 



meet her new life. She succeeded to her hus- 
band ? s professorship^ and carried on Ms special 
lines of investigation as well as her own. The 
value of her work to science and to humanity 
may be indicated by the fact that in 1911 the 
Nobel prize was again awarded to her the only 
time It has ever been given more than once to 
the same person. 

At home y she tried to be father as well as 
mother. She took the children for walks in the 
evening, and while she sewed on their dresses 
and knitted them mittens and mufflers, she told 
them stories of the wonderland of science. 

"Why do you take time to write down every- 
thing you do ? " asked Eve one day ? as she looked 
over her mother 9 s shoulder at the neat note-book 
in which the world-famous scientist was sum- 
ming up the work of the day. 

"Why does a seaman keep a log, dearie f" the 
mother questioned with a smile. * * A laboratory 
is just like a ship ? and I want things shipshape. 
Every day with me is like a voyage a voyage 
of discovery. " 

"But why do you put question marks every- 
where, Mother ? ?? persisted the child. 



It was true that the pages fairly "bristled with 
interrogation points. Madame Curie laughed 
as if she had never noticed this before. "It is 
good to have an inquiring mind, child, ? ? she said. 
"I am like my children; I love to ask questions. 
And when one gets an answer, when you really 
discover something, it only leads to more ques- 
tions; and so we go on from one thing to an- 

When Madame Curie was asked on one oc- 
casion to what she attributed her success, she 
replied, without hesitation: "To my excellent 
training : first, under my father, who taught me 
to wonder and to test; second, under my hus- 
band, who understood and encouraged me ; and 
third, under my children, who question me!' y 

It is the day of one of Madame Curie y s lec- 
tures. The dignified halls of the university are 
a-flutter with many visitors from the world of 
wealth 'and fashion. There, too, are distin- 
guished scientists from abroad, among whom 
are Lord Kelvin, Sir Oliver Lodge, and Sir "Wil- 
liam Eamsay. The President of France and his 
wife enter with royal guests, Don Carlos and 
Queen Amelie of Portugal, and the Shah of 



Persia. The plodding students and the sober 
men of learning 1 ,, ranged about the hall, blink at 
the brilliant company like owls suddenly brought 
into the sunlight. 

At a given moment the hum of conversation 
dies away and the assemblage rises to its feet 
as a little black-robed figure steps In and 
stands before them on the platform. There is 
an instant's stillness, a hush of indrawn breath 
you can almost hear, and then the audience 
gives expression to Its enthusiasm in a sudden 
roar of applause. The little woman lifts up 
her hand pleadingly. All is still again and 
she begins to speak. 

She is slight, almost pathetically frail, this 
queen of science. You feel as if all her life had 
gone into her work. Her face is pale, and her 
hair Is only a shadow above her serious brow. 
But the deep-set eyes glow, and the quiet voice 
som ( ehow holds the attention of those least con- 
cerned with the problems of advanced physics. 

Bank and wealth mean nothing to this little 
black-robed professor. It is said that when she 
was requested by the president to give a special 
demonstration of radium and its marvels before 



the Shall of Persia,, she amazed his Serene 
Highness by showing much more concern for 
her tiny tube of white powder than for his dis- 
tinguished favor. "When the royal guest ? who 
had never felt any particular need of exercising 
self-control^ saw the uncanny light that was able 
to pass through plates of iron ? he gave a star- 
tled exclamation and made a sudden movement 
that tipped over the scientist ? s material. Now 
it was the Lady Professor's turn to "be alarmed. 
To pacify her, the Shah held out a costly ring 
from his royal finger, but this extraordinary 
woman with the pale face paid not the slightest 
attention ; she could not be bribed to forget the 
peril of her precious radium. It is to be 
doubted if the eastern potentate had ever before 
been treated with such scant ceremony. 

In 1911, Madame Curie ? s name was proposed 
for election to the Academy of Sciences. While 
It was admitted that her rivals for the vacancy 
were below her in merit, she failed of being 
elected by two votes* There was a general pro- 
test, since It was felt that service of the first or- 
der had gone unrecognized merely because the 
candidate happened to be a woman. It was 



stated, however, that Madame Curie was not re- 
jected for tliis reason, but because It was 
thought wise to appoint to that vacancy Profes- 
sor Branly, who had given Marconi valuable aid 
in his invention of wireless telegraphy, and who, 
since he was then an old man, would probably 
not have another chance for the honor. As Ma- 
dame Curie, on the other hand, was only forty- 
three, she could well wait for another vacancy. 
Since the outbreak of the present war the 
world has heard nothing new of the work of the 
Heroine of Badium. "We do not doubt, how- 
ever, that like all the women of France and all 
her men of science, she is giving her strength 
and knowledge to the utmost in the service of 
her adopted country. But we know, also, that 
just as surely she is seeing the pure light of 
truth shining through the blackness, and that 
she is "following the gleam. "^ When the clouds 
of war shall have cleared away, we may see that 
her labors now, as in the past, have not only 
been of service to her country, but also to hu- 
manity. For Truth knows no boundaries of na- 
tion or race, and he who serves Truth serves 
all men. 



The Russian peasants have a proverb that says: "Labor 
is the house that Love lives in"; by which they mean that 
no two people, or group of people, can come into affection- 
ate relation with each other unless they carry on a mutual 




you remember what the poet says of 
Peter Bell? 

At noon ? when by the forest's edge 

He lay beneath the branches high ? 
The soft blue sky did never melt 
Into his heart: he never felt 
The -witchery of the soft bine sky! 

In the same way ? when he saw the "primrose "by 
the river's brim," it was not to him a lovely bit 
of the miracle of upspringing life from the un- 
thinking clod ; it was just a common little yel- 
low flower ? which one might idly pick and cast 
aside, but to which one never gave a thought. 
He saw the sky and woods and fields and human 
faces with the outward eye ? but not with the eye 
of the heart or the spirit. He had eyes for noth- 
ing but the shell and show of things. 

This is the story of a girl who early learned 
to see with the "inward eye"; she "felt the 



witchery of the soft "blue sky" and all the won- 
der of the changing earth, and something of the 
life about her melted into her heart and became 
part of herself. So it was that she came to have 
a " belonging feeling" for all that she saw 
fields, pine woods ? mill-stream, birds, trees, and 

Perhaps little Jane Addams loved trees and 
people best of all. Trees were so big and true, 
with roots ever seeking a firmer hold on the 
good brown earth, and branches growing up and 
ever up, year by year, turning sunbeams into 
strength. And people she loved, because they 
had in them something of all kinds of life. 

There was one special tree that had the 
friendliest nooks where she could nestle and 
dream and plan plays as long as the summer 
afternoon. Perhaps one reason that Jane 
loved this tree was that it reminded her of her 
tall, splendid father, 

"You are so big and beautiful, and yet you 
always have a place for a little girl even one 
who can never be straight and strong, 5 * Jane 
whispered, as she put her arms about her tree 
friend. And when she crept into the shelter 


'i Magazine 

Jane Addams 


of her father ? s arms, she forgot her poor back, 
that made her carry her head weakly on one 
side when she longed to fling It back and look 
the world in the face squarely, exultingly, as 
her father's daughter should. 

" There is no one so fine or so noble as my 
father/* Jane would say to herself as she saw 
him standing before his Bible-class on Sundays. 
Then her cheek paled, and her big eyes grew 
wistful. It would be too bad if people discov- 
ered that this frail child belonged to him. They 
would be surprised and pity him, and one must 
never pity Father. So it came about that, 
though it was her dearest joy to walk by his 
side clinging to his hand, she stepped over to 
her uncle, saying timidly, i May I walk with 
you, Uncle James? ?J 

This happened again and again, to the mild 
astonishment of the good uncle. At last a day 
came that made everything different. Jane, 
who had gone to town unexpectedly, chanced to 
meet her father coming out of a bank on the 
main street. Smiling gaily and raising his 
shining silk hat, he bowed low, as if he were 
greeting a princess ; and as the shy child smiled 



back she knew that she had been a very foolish 
little girl Indeed Why of course ! Her father 
made everything that belonged to him all right 
just because It did belong. He had strength 
and power enough for them both. As she 
walked by his side after that, it seemed as If the 
big grasp of the hand that held hers enfolded 
all the little tremblings of her days, 

^What are these funny red and purple 
specks ?" Jane asked once as she looked with 
loving admiration at the hand to which she 

" Those marks show that I Ve dressed mill- 
stones in my time, just as this flat right thumb 
tells any one who happens to notice that I began 
life as a miller/ 7 said her father. 

After that Jane spent much time at the mill 
industriously rubbing the ground wheat be- 
tween thumb and forefinger ; and when the mill- 
stones were being dressed, she eagerly held out 
her little hands in the hope that the bits of fly- 
ing flint would mark her as they had her father. 
These marks, she dimly felt, were an outward 
sign of her father's true greatness. He was a 
leading citizen of their Elinols community by 



right of character and hard-won success. 
Everybody admired and honored him. Did not 
President Lincoln even, who was, her father 
said, "the greatest man in the world/' write 
to him as a comrade and brother, calling him 
"My dear Double D ? ed Addams"? 

Years afterward? when Jane Addams spoke 
of her childhood, she said that all her early ex- 
periences were directly connected with her 
father, and that two incidents stood out with 
the distinctness of vivid pictures. 

She stood, one Sunday morning, in proud 
possession of a beautiful new cloak, waiting for 
her father's approval He looked at her a mo- 
ment quietly, and then patted her on the shoul- 

"Thy cloak is very pretty, Jane, ?? said the 
Quaker father, gravely; "so much prettier, in- 
deed, than that of the other little girls that* I 
think thee had better wear thy old one, ?? Then 
he added, as he looked into her puzzled, disap- 
pointed eyes, "We can never, perhaps, make 
such things as clothes -quite fair and right in 
this hill-and-valley world, but it is wrong and 
stupid to let the differences crop out in things 



that mean so much more ; in school and church, 

at least, people should be able to feel that they 
belong to one family." 

Another day she had gone with her father on 
an errand into the poorest quarter of the town. 
It had always before seemed to her country 
eyes that the city was a dazzling place of toy- 
and candy-shops, smooth streets, and contented 
houses with sleek lawns. Now she caught a 
glimpse of quite another city, with ugly, dingy 
houses huddled close together and thin, dirty 
children standing miserably about without 
place or spirit to play. 

"It is dreadful the way all the comfortable, 
happy people stay off to themselves/ 5 said 
Jane. "When I grow up, I shall, of course, 
have a big house, but it is not going to be set 
apart with all the other big homes ; it is going 
to be right down among the poor horrid little 
houses like these. " 

Always after that, when Jane roamed over 
her prairie playground or sat dreaming under 
the Norway .pines which had grown from seeds 
that her father had scattered in his early, pio- 
neer days, she seemed to hear something of 



"the still, sad music of humanity 95 in the voice 
of the wind in the tree-tops and in the harmony 
of her life of varied interests. For she saw 
with the inward eye of the heart, and felt the 
throb of all life in each vital experience that 
was hers. It would be impossible to live apart 
in pleasant places, enjoying beauty which oth- 
ers might not share. She must live in the midst 
of the crowded ways, and bring to the poor, 
stifled little houses an ideal of healthier living. 
She would study medicine and go as a doctor 
to the forlorn, dirty children; but first there 
would be many things to learn. 

It was her dream to go to Smith College, but 
her father believed that a small college near 
her home better fitted one for the life to which 
she belonged, 

u M.y daughter is also a daughter of Illinois," 
he said, "and Eockford College is her proper 
place. Afterward she may go east and to Eu- 
rope in order to gain a knowledge of what the 
world beyond us can give, and so get a fuller 
appreciation of what life at home is and may 

Jane Addanas went, therefore, to the Illinois 


college^ "The Mt. Eolyoke of the West," a 

college famjecl for Its earnest^ missionary spirit. 
The serious temper of her class was reflected In 
their motto which was the Anglo-Saxon word 
for lady Jildfdige (bread-kneader)^ translated 
as bread-giver; and the poppy was selected for 
the class flower, " because popples grow among 
the wheat ? as if Nature knew that wherever 
there was hunger that needed food there would 
be pain that needed relief. ? ? 

The study In which she took the keenest Inter- 
est was history, "the human tale of this wide 
world/ 9 but even at the time of her greatest 
enthusiasm she realized that while knowledge 
comes from the records of the past ? wisdom 
conies from a right understanding of the actual 
life of the present 

After receiving from her Alma Mater the de- 
gree of B. A., she entered the Woman ? s Medi- 
cal College In Philadelphia to prepare for real 
work in a real world? but the old spinal trouble 
soon brought that chapter to a close. After 
some months In Doctor Weir Mitchell's hos- 
pital, and a longer time of invalidism ? she 



agreed to follow her doctor's pleasant prescrip- 
tion of two years in Europe. 

a When I returned I decided to give up my 
medical course," said Jane Addams ? "partly 

because 1 had no real aptitude for scientific 
work, and partly because I discovered that 
there were other genuine reasons for living 
among the poor than that of practicing medi- 
cine upon them/ f 

While in London Miss Addains saw much of 
the life of the great city from the top of an om- 
nibus. Once she was taken with a number of 
tourists to see the spectacle of the Saturday 
night auction of fruits and vegetables to the 
poor of the East Side, and the lurid picture 
blotted out all the picturesque impressions, full 
of pleasant human interest and historic asso- 
ciation, that she had been eagerly enjoying dur- 
ing this first visit to London town. Always 
afterwards, when she closed her eyes, she could 
see the scene; it seemed as if it would never 
leave her. In the flare of the gas-light, which 
made weird and spectral the motley, jostling 
crowd and touched the black shadows it created 



into a grotesque semblance of life, she saw 
wrinkled women, desperate-looking men, and 
pale children vying with each other to secure 
with their farthings and ha ? pennies the vege- 
tables held up by a hoarse, red-faced auctioneer. 

One haggard youth sat on the curb, hungrily 
devouring the cabbage that he had succeeded In 
bidding in. Her sensation-loving companions 
on the bus stared with mingled pity and dis- 
gust ; but the girl who saw what she looked on 
with the inward eye of the heart turned away 
her face. The poverty that she had before seen 
had not prepared her for wretchedness like 

"For the following weeks/ f she said, U I went 
about London furtively, afraid to look down 
narrow streets and alleys lest they disclose this 
hideous human need and suffering. In time, 
nothing of the great city seemed real save the 
misery of its East End/ 9 

This first impression of London 9 s poverty 
was, of course, not only lurid, but quite unfair. 
She knew nothing of the earnest workers who 
were devoting their lives to the problem of giv- 
ing the right kind of help to those who, through 


Polk Street facade of Hull-House buildings 

A corner of the Boys* Library at Hull-House 


weakness, ignorance, or misfortune, were not 

able to help themselves. 

"When, five years later, she visited Toynbee 
Hall, she saw effective work of the kind she had 
dimly dreamed of ever since, as a little girl, she 
had wanted to build a beautiful big house among 
the ugly little ones in the eity. Here in the 
heart of the Whitechapel district, the most evil 
and unhappy section of London 7 s East End, a 
group of optimistic, large-hearted young men, 
who believed that advantages mean responsi- 
bilities, had come to live and work. While try- 
ing to share what good birth, breeding, and 
education had given them with those who had 
been shut away from every chance for whole- 
some living, they believed that they in turn 
might learn from their humble neighbors much 
that universities and books cannot teach. 

"I have spent too much time in vague prep- 
aration for I knew not what," said Jane Ad- 
dams. "At last I see a way to begin to live 
in a really real world, and to learn to do by 

And so Hull-House was born. In the heart 
of the industrial section of Chicago, where 



workers of thirty-six different nations live 
closely herded together. Miss Addarns found 
surviving a solidly built house with large halls, 
open fireplaces, and friendly piazzas. This she 
secured, repaired, and adapted to the needs of 
her work ? naming it Hull-House from its orig- 
inal owner ? one of Chicago 9 s early citizens. 

"But we must not forget that the house is 
only the outward sign/* said Miss Addams. 
"The real thing is the work. ' Labor is the 
house that love lives in,' and as we work to- 
gether we shall come to understand each other 
and learn from each other. ?? 

"What are you going to put in your house 
for your interesting experiment?" Miss Ad- 
dams was asked. 

"Just what I should want in my home any- 
where even in your perfectly correct neigh- 
borhood/ y she replied with a smile. 

You can imagine the beautiful, restful place 
it was, with everything in keeping with the fine 
old house. On every side were pictures and 
other interesting things that she had gathered 
in her travels. 

Of course, Miss Addams was not alone in her 


work. Her friend, Ellen Gates Starr, was with 
her from the beginning. Miss Julia Lathrop, 
who is now the head of the Children's Bureau 
in Washington was another fellow-worker. 
Soon many volunteers came eagerly forward l( 
some to teach the kindergarten, others to take 
charge of classes and dubs of various kinds. 
They began by teaching different kinds of 
hand-work, which then had no place in the pub- 
lic schools. 

"One little chap, who was brought into the 
Juvenile Court the other day for breaking a 
window? confessed to the judge that he had 
thrown the stone *a-purpose to get pinched/ 
so they would send him to a school where *they 
learn a fellow to make things/ ?? Miss Addams 
was told. 

Classes in woodwork, basketry, sewing, weav- 
ing, and other handicrafts were eagerly patron- 
ized. There were also evening clubs where 
boys and girls who had early left school to 
work in factories could learn to make things of 
practical value or listen to reading and the 
spirited telling of the great world-stories. 

One day Miss Addams met a small newsboy 


as lie hastily left the house, vainly trying to 
keep back signs of grief. "There is no use of 
coming here any more/* he said gruffly; 
"Prince Eoland is dead!" 

The evening classes were also social clubs, 
where the children who seemed to be growing 
dull and unfeeling like the turning wheels 
among which they spent their days could relax 
their souls and bodies in free, happy compan- 
ionship and get a taste of natural living. 

"Young people need pleasure as truly as they 
need food and air," said Miss Addains. 
"When I see the throngs of factory-girls on 
our streets in the evening, it seems to me that 
the pitiless city sees in them just two possi- 
bilities: first, the chance to use their tender 
labor-power by day, and then the chance to take 
from them their little earnings at night by ap- 
pealing to their need of pleasure. ? * 

One of the new buildings that was early 
added to the original Hull-House was a gymna- 
sium, which provided opportunities for swim- 
ming, basket-ball, and dancing. 

"We have swell times in our Hull-House 
club," boasted black-eyed Angelina. "Our 



floor in the gym puts it all over the old dance- 
halls for a jolly good hop ? no saloon next door 
with all that crowd, good classy music ? and the 
right sort of girls and fellows- Then some- 
times our elulb has a real party in the coffee- 
house. That ? s what I call a fine ? cozy time; 
makes a girl glad she ? s living. 35 

Hull-House also puts within the reach of 
many the things which their active minds crave, 
and opens the way to a new life and success in 
the world. 

" Don't you remember me? ?5 a rising young 
newspaper man once said to Miss Addams. "I 
used to belong to a Hull-House club. ?? 

"Tell me what Hull-House did for you that 
really helped/ * she took occasion to ask. 

"It was the first house I had ever been in ? ?? 
he replied promptly, " where books and maga- 
zines just lay around as if there were plenty of 
them in the world Don't you remember how 
much I used to read at that little round table at 
the back of the library? 55 

Some good people who visit the Settlement 
in a patronizing mood are surprised to discover 
that many of " these working-girls n have a 



taste for what Is fine. Miss Addams likes to 
tell them about the intelligent group- who fol- 
lowed the reading of George Eliot ? s "Eomola" 
with unflagging Interest, 

"The club was held in our dining-room," she 
said to one incredulous visitor, "and two of the 
girls came early regularly to help wash the 
dishes and arrange the photographs of Flor- 
ence on the table. Do you know," she added, 
looking her prosperous guest quietly In the 
eyeSj "that the young woman of whom you 
were inquiring about * these people ? is one of 
our neighborhood girls? Those who live in 
these dingy streets because they are poor and 
must live near their work are not a different or- 
der of beings. Don't forget what Lincoln said, 
*Grod must love the common people He made 
so many of them/ You have only to live at 
Hull-House a while to learn how true It Is that 
God loves them." 

"Nothing has ever meant more real Inspira- 
tion to me," said a student of sociology from 
the university, who had spent a year in the Set- 
tlement, "than the way the poor help each other. 
A woman who supports three children by scrub- 



blng will sliare her "breakfast with the people In 
the next tenement because she has heard that 
they are *hard up'; a man who has been out of 
work has a month's rent paid by a young chap 
in the stock-yards who boarded with him last 
year ; a Swedish girl works in the laundry for 
her German neighbor to let her stay home with 
her sick baby and so it goes. ?? 

"Our people have, too, many other hardships 
besides the frequent lack of food and fuel," 
said Miss Addams, 4 ' There are other hungers. 
Do you know what it means for the Italian 
peasant? used to an outdoor life In a sunny, 
easy-going land, to adapt himself to the ways 
of America? It Is a very dark, shut-In Chicago 
that many of them know. At one of the recep- 
tions here an Italian woman who was delighted 
with our red roses was also surprised that they 
could be * brought so fresh all the way from 
Italy.' She would not believe that roses grew 
In Chicago, because she had lived here six years 
and had never seen any. One always saw roses 
In Italy. Think of it! She had lived for six 
years within ten blocks of florists' shops, but 
had never seen onel" 



"Yes," said Miss Starr, "they lose the 
beauties and joys of their old homes before they 
learn what the new can give. When we had our 
first art exhibit, an Italian said that he didn't 
know that Americans cared for anything but 
dollars that looking at pictures was some- 
thing people did only in Italy. 5 ? 

A Greek was overjoyed at seeing a photo- 
graph of the Acropolis at Hull-House. He said 
that before he came to America he had pre- 
pared a book of pictures in color of Athens, be- 
cause he thought that people in the new coun- 
try would like to see them. At his stand near 
a big railroad-station he had tried to talk to 
some of those who stopped to buy about "the 
glory that was Greece/ 5 but he had concluded 
that Americans cared for nothing but fruit and 
the correct change! 

At Hull-House the Greeks, Italians, Poles, 
and Germans not only find pictures which 
quicken early memories and affections, but they 
can give '.plays of their own country and peo- 
ple. The "Ajax> ? and "Electra" of Sophocles 
have been presented by Greeks, who felt that 
they were showing ignorant Americans the 



majesty of tire classic drama* Thanksgiving, 
Christmas, and other holidays are celebrated 
by plays and pageants. Nor are the great days 
of other lands forgotten. Garibaldi and Maz- 
zini ? who fought for liberty in Italy, are hon- 
ored with Washington and Lincoln. 

Old and young alike take part in the dra- 
matic events. A blind patriarchy who appeared 
in Longfellow ? s "G-olden Leg end/ * which was 
presented one Christmas, spoke to Miss Ad- 
dains of his great joy in the work. 

u Kind Heart," he said (that was his name 
for her), "Kind Heart, it seems to me that I 
have been waiting all my life to hear some of 
these things said. I am glad we had so many 
performances, for I think I can remember them 
to the end. It is getting very hard for me to 
listen to reading, but the different voices and all 
made this very plain. ?y 

The music classes and choruses give much 
joy to the people, and here it seems possible to 
bring together in a common feeling those widely 
separated by tradition and custom. Music is 
the universal language of the heart. Bohemian 
and Polish women sing their tender and stir- 



ring folk-songs. The voices of men and women 
of many lands mingle in Scliulbert ? s lovely 
melodies and in the mighty choruses of Handel 

As Miss Addams went about among her 
neighbors she longed to lead them to a percep- 
tion of the relation between the present and 
the past. If only the young, who were impa- 
tiently breaking away from all the old country 
traditions, could be made to appreciate what 
their parents held dear; if the fathers and 
mothers could at the same time understand the 
complex new order in which their children were 
struggling to hold their own. When, one day ? 
she saw an old Italian woman spinning with 
distaff and spindle, an idea came to her. A 
Labor Museum, that would show the growth of 
industries in every country, from the simplest 
processes to the elaborate machinery of modern 
times, might serve the purpose. 

The working-out of her plan far exceeded 
her wildest dream. Bussians, Germans, and 
Italians happily foregathered to demonstrate 
and compare methods of textile work with 
which they were familiar. Other activities 
proved equally interesting. The lectures given 



among the various exhibits met with a warm 
welcome. Factory workers^ who had pre- 
viously fought shy of everything " Improving/ ? 
came because they said these lectures were 
"getting next to the stuff you work with all the 

Hull-House has worked not only with the 
people but for them ? by trying to secure laws 
that will improve the conditions under which 
they labor and live. The following Incident 
will speak for the fight that Miss Addanas has 
made against such evils as child labor and 
sweat-shop work. 

The representatives of a group of manufac- 
turers waited upon her and promised that if 
she would "drop all this nonsense about a 
sweat-shop bill of which she knew nothing/ 9 
certain business men would give fifty thousand 
dollars for her Settlement. The steady look 
which the lady of Hull-House gave the spokes- 
man made him wish that some one else had 
come with the offer of the bribe. 

"We have no ambition," said Miss Addanis, 
"to make Hull-House the largest institution in 
Chicago; but we are trying to protect our 



neighbors from evil conditions ; and if to do 
that, the destruction of our Settlement should 
be necessary, we would gladly sing a Te Deum 
on Its ruins." 

The girl who saw what she looked on with 
"the eye of the heart," had become a leader In 
the life and the reforms of her time. "On the 
whole/ 9 one writer has said of her, "the reach 
of this woman 9 s sympathy and understanding 
is beyond all comparison wider in its span 
comprehending all kinds of people than that 
of any other living person." 

Jane Addams has won her great influence 
with people by the simple means of working 
with them. Her life and the true Hull-House 
the work itself, not the buildings which shel- 
ter it give meaning to the saying that "Labor 
is the house that love lives in." 

THE 1